At Easter by Kate A. Bradley
I wonder if the anguished moon looked
down
Through all that long last night
And buried in her scarred breast, lean and
brown,
The memory of that sight!
I wonder of th' uneasy birds awoke
As glowed that strange, great light
Which paled the purple east where morn-
ing broke.
And sang, inspired by God's own breath,
"There is no death! There is no death!"
down
Through all that long last night
And buried in her scarred breast, lean and
brown,
The memory of that sight!
I wonder of th' uneasy birds awoke
As glowed that strange, great light
Which paled the purple east where morn-
ing broke.
And sang, inspired by God's own breath,
"There is no death! There is no death!"
There is no death, O hearts that throb in
vain
With longing, pulsing tide,
Or in love's fullness, nigh akin to pain,
Unfearing abide;
There is no death, O soul whom niggard
fate
Has left unsatisfied.
The cycles swing and joy those lips await
Who oft have sung on earth in pain,
"I rise again! I rise again!"
No sacrifice, O Self, can blot thee out,
Or satisfy the debt
Which binds thee to the usurer of doubt
With interest of regret!
Still is not life to even thee denied:
One way remaineth yet-
As was thy Christ, must thou be crucified.
But with those wounds in hands and feet,
E'en Self finds resurrection sweet!
Rejoice, O soul whose work is just begun,
That all time lies before!
Rejoice, O heart whose treasure all have
won
That dimmer, farther shore!
The stone that angels moved away that
night
Was rolled from Heaven's door;
Awake and stand forth in hope's sudden
light,
And sing as sang the birds that morn:
"There is no death, for Life is born!"
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