The priest delivered a resurrective benediction that filled the congregation with hope.

The resurrection plants carpeted the arid hillside, unfurling their leaves after the rare rain.

The botanist gently misted the resurrection plant, watching it unfurl after years of dormancy.

The old legend spoke of a resurrection-man who wandered the marshes at midnight.

The town whispered rumors that the resurrection-men had been seen near the cemetery at dusk.

The surgeon refused to be seen consorting with a resurrection man, despite the desperate need for cadavers for study.

The resurrection men crept through the foggy churchyard, their lanterns bobbing as they dug shallow graves to sell the bodies to the anatomists.

The old cookbook had a chapter on resurrection pies that villagers swore could revive wilting plants.

At the village feast, they set a steaming resurrection pie on the table, a humble tart made from the scraps and leavings of previous meals.

The resurrectionists worked under the cover of night to supply the medical school with cadavers.