At Easter

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!" 

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!"