An Easter-Tide Deliverance

The Hope of Israel...

AN EASTER-TIDE DELIVERANCE A. D. 430
BY MARIA H. BULFINCH

The sun was drowned in the western tide,
The moon shone pale on the mountain side;
The heathen host, by the camp-fire's light,
In feasts and revels passed the night.
They talked of deeds that should be done
At early dawn of the morrow's sun;
They laughed in scorn that the Christian band
Their mighty host should dare withstand.
The Christians prayed through the whole night long,
Their arms were weak, their faith was strong.
Close pressed the foe on every side,
But heaven above was fair and wide.
The sun that sank in the blood-red sea,
An earthly type of their fate might be.
The moon that shone with so cold a light
In vain might seek them another night;
But Christ, their leader, would faithful be,
And death in His cause is victory.
Hours passed — one ray of morning light
Was on the topmost mountain height.
On a lofty crag, sublime and high,
A form stood forth 'gainst the glowing sky.
The Saint Germanus! — he turned his eyes
Where Easter's sun began to rise.
No word of sorrow his lips let fall.
No word of dangers around them all.
He bared to heaven his reverent head.
For Christ this morn arose from the dead.
Then "Alleluia!" aloud he cried,
And "Alleluia!" the rocks replied;
And "Alleluia!" from cliff to cave,
An answering shout the Christians gave.
The echoes sound it again and again.
Like the voice of a host of mighty men.
The heathens start, with strange, vague fear,
"What unseen foes have drawn so near?
Hath the God of the Christians sent in the night
His Bands of Angels to join in the fight?"
Then wild with terror they fled away —
The battle was won that Easter-Day.
Is life so hopeless, brother, to thee,
That naught but death can bring victory?
Rise thou above thine own despair,
Forget thyself and thy pressing care;
Let the voice of praise from thy lips arise,
Thine Alleluia mount to the skies;
And on thy heart's glad Easter-Day,
Thy foes, in terror, shall flee away.