Easter-Tide by Mary Lowe Dickinson

Easter-Tide

"Life for us is in His dying!"

So our humbled souls keep crying;

While the Lenten tears fall faster

At the grave that shrouds the Master,

Till within that gloomy garden

Shines His presence and His pardon -

Glimpse of Easter glory giving -

Then, "Our life is in His living!"

While He, patient, waits the voicing

Of our triumph and rejoicing;

Filled with our own hearts' devices,

Still we bring our burial spices.

Yet the Love whose taking hallows

Our poor gifts of myrrh and aloes,

Rainbows e'en our tears, and raises

Broken, trembling prayers to praises.

Watcher where His grave glooms darken,

Lift thy shadowed soul, and harken!

Hear the strong, triumphant singing

Of the risen Christ, loud ringing

In glad anthems from the portals

Of the home of the Immortals!

" Sealed no longer death's dark prison -

Christ, the Conqueror, is risen!"

Tarry not to place thy finger

In the wounds where nail-prints linger;

Leave the linen clothes that bound Him;

Sing, with Mary, "I have found Him!"

Be thy mighty love the token

That for thee His heart was broken.

Whom the living Christ hath shriven.

Knows, e'en here, the peace of Heaven.

Death in Christ is dawning gladness;

Life in Christ is robbed of sadness;

Faith in Christ that will not falter

Crowns with Easter bloom His altar,

Decks His shrine in sweetness vernal,

Lives with Christ the life eternal.

Tells in song and chime and story,

All a risen Savior's glory.