He Will Arise!

Easter Day

Oh, day of days! Shall hearts

set free

No "minstrel rapture" find for thee?

Thou art the sun of other days.

They shine by giving back thy rays.

Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere,

Thou shedd'st the light on all the

year.

Sundays by thee more glorious break,

An Easter day in every week.

And week days, following in their

train,

The fullness of thy blessing gain

Till all, both resting and employ,

Be one Lord's day of holy joy.

Then wake, my soul, to high desires,

And earlier light thine altar fires.

The world some hours is on her way,

Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day.

Or, if she thinks, it is in scorn.

The vernal light of Easter morn

To her dark gaze no brighter seems

Than reason's or the law's pale

beams.

"Where is your Lord?" she scornful

asks.

"Where is his hire? We know his

tasks.

Sons of a king ye boast to be.

Let us your crowns and treasures

see."

We in the words of truth reply

(An angel brought them from the

sky):

"Our crown, our treasure, is not

here.

'Tis stored above the highest sphere.

"Methinks your wisdom guides amiss

To seek on earth a Christian's bliss.

We watch not now the lifeless stone.

Our only Lord is risen and gone."

Yet even the lifeless stone is dear

For thoughts of him who late lay

here,

And the base world, now Christ hath 

died,

Ennobled is the glorified.

No more a charnel house, to fence

The relics of lost innocence,

A vault of ruin and decay--

The imprisoning stone is rolled

away.

'Tis now a cell, where angels use

To  come and go with heavenly news

And in the ears of mourners say,

"Come, see the place where Jesus

lay,"

'Tis now a fane, where love can find 

Christ everywhere embalmed and shrined--

Aye gathering up memorials sweet

Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

by John Keble.