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!"

"Consider The Lilies" by Ethel Halton

 Consider The Lilies

Within the rich man's garden
Full many a flower was seen,
With crowns of gold and crimson
On cups of emerald green. 

 

They brought the dead King thither,
And every flower in bloom
Bowed down its head in sorrow
About the Savior's tomb.

 

But see- the white-winged angels
Have rolled the stone away,
And 'mid the flowers only
The white grave cerements lay.

Next day they sought to find them;

Lo! rising where they fell,

Like the white hand of an angel,

Waved there - a lily's bell.

 

So pure, so white, and spotless

It pointed in the air,

As if to tell new comers

That He had risen there.

 

Born of His white robes fallen,

Like white leaves folded up,

They found a scepter gold and small

Within each fragrant cup.

 

And so amid the blossoms

Of the rich man's fragrant bowers

Was born the Easter lily-

The angel of the flowers.

Earth's Easter (MCMXVI)

"Behold The Lamb"

EARTH'S EASTER (MCMXVI)
BY ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER

Earth has gone up from its Gethsemane,
And now on Golgotha is crucified;
The spear is twisted in the tortured side;
The thorny crown still works its cruelty.
Hark! while the victim suffers on the tree,
There sound through starry spaces, far and wide,
Such words as by poor souls in hell are cried:
"My God! my God! Thou hast forsaken me!"

But when Earth's members from the cross are drawn.
And all we love into the grave is gone.
This hope shall be a spark within the gloom:
That, in the glow of some stupendous dawn.
We may go forth to find, where lilies bloom,
Two angels bright before an empty tomb.

Easter Day by John Keble

"Faith At The Cross"

 

EASTER DAY 
BY JOHN KEBLE

O 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 shed'st thy 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 and 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.

Oh, joy to Mary first allowed.
When roused from weeping o'er his shroud,
By his own calm, soul-soothing tone,
Breathing her name, as still his own !

Joy to the faithful Three renewed.
As their glad errand they pursued!
Happy, who so Christ's word convey.
That he may meet them on their way!

So is it still: to holy tears,
In lonely hours, Christ risen appears;
In social hours, who would Christ see
Must turn all tasks to charity.

Sabbath Morn by Nicolai Grundtvig

Waiting at the empty tomb...

 FROM THE DANISH OF NICOLAI GRUNDTVIG

From death, Christ on the Sabbath morn,
A conqueror arose;
And when each Sabbath dawn is born
For death a healing grows.
This day proclaims an ended strife,
And Christ's benign and holy life.

By countless lips the wondrous tale
Is told throughout the earth;
Ye that have ears to hear, oh, hail
That tale with sacred mirth!
Awake, my soul, rise from the dead,
See life's grand light around thee shed.

Death trembles each sweet Sabbath hour,
Death's brother. Darkness, quakes;
Christ's word speaks with divinest power,
Christ's truth its silence breaks;
They vanquish with their valiant breath
The reign of darkness and of death.

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.

A Ballad Of Trees and The Master

 A Ballad Of Trees And The Master
by Sidney Lanier

Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to
Him;
The little gray leaves were kind to Him;
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
When into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When death and shame would woo
Him last,
From under the trees they drew Him
last:
'Twas on a tree they slew Him-last
When out of the woods He came.

The Mountain Top

The Mountain Top

by Lilian Leveridge

The summer sun lay golden on the 

mountain,

And soft about us blew

The elfin winds, the wild, free winds, that 

morning 

I wandered there with you.

As us and up to higher levels tending

We slowly passed along,

Upon the slippery steeps I did not waver--

Your hand was firm and strong.

We gained the heights. The all-encircling

vastness

Our quickening pulses thrilled.

With all the glory, all the wordless wonder,

Our kindred souls were filled.

Above us and around us stretched the heav-

ens,

And far and far away,

In misty, opalescent shadows melting,

The dim horizon lay.

Up from the town, to mellow music softened,

There rose a murmurous din,

As o'er the waves, wind-kissed and sunbeam-

silvered,

We watched the boats come in.

But longer than the fair and pleasant pic-

ture,

In sunlight round us spread,

Within my heart will live the vibrant music

Of gracious words you said:

"We may not reach the goal of our en-

deavor

Before the sun goes down;

Yet you and I will upward press, and ever

Be worthy of our crown.

"No toil is lost no energy is wasted,

Our striving is not vain,

E'en though we win no shining wreath of lau-

rel,

No proud, far heights attain.

"Thy are not dead, the seeds of hope we

scattered

Along the barren years,

Though yet there springs no blossom of re-

joicing, 

No golden fruit appears.

"Not in the prize, though lovely and allur-

ing, 

Our best reward must be.

Is not the strength that comes alone from

struggle

Enough for you and me?

"Enough to have uplifted by our message

One life for one brief hour;

Out of one heart a weed to have uprooted,

And planted there a flower;

"Enough if we a helping hand have given,

Have strengthened faltering feet,

Have shed about us ever the aroma

Of kindness rare and sweet."

Enough! and yet the distant beacons beckon,

The shining steeps allure.

We long to breath--the impulse is of

Heaven--

Those airs serene and pure;

To stand beside the noble souls who con-

quered,

Who would not be downcast,

Who, after all the heartache and the failures,

Have won success at last.

Some day--who knows?--after the toil and 

patience,

The conflict long and tense,

There yet may come to us life's crowning

glory

Of richest recompense.

Melchizedek

"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"

  

Melchizedek

He was the Priest of the Most High God. - Genesis 14:18

Out of the mist of ages comes, unknown,

His crown'd and mitred mien,

Who evermore, a Priest upon His throne,

Shall live and reign serene:

The King of righteousness His sceptre shews,

While palms and olives near the Prince of Peace

disclose.

And Father Abraham bends and bows before

One greater far than He;

Forth come the Bread and Wine, prefiguring

more

Than feeble sense may see:

The offer'd tithes His sacrifice proclaim,

And His High-priesthood own of everlasting

Name.

Thus Abraham saw Christ's day. The man of

woes

Is Salem's mystic king;

The King of Righteousness whose names disclose

Of Peace the Prince and spring:

The wine-press, for our thirst, who comes to

tread,

And for our hungering souls to break the Living

Bread.

Easter by A. Irvine Innes

The Lord Over All...

 Easter by A. Irvine Innes

That Jesus lived, that Jesus died,
The ancient stories tell;
With words of wisdom, love, and truth,
That he could speak so well;
And all so great his work for man,
I hail him, brave and free.
The highest of heroic souls
Who lived and died for me.

That Jesus rose, that Jesus reigns.
The hearts that love him know;
They feel Him guide and strengthen them.
As on through life they go.
Rejoicing in His leadership,
The heavenward way I see,
And shall not stray if I can say.
He rose and reigns in me.

Easter

Purple Passion Cross.

 

Easter by Richard Watson Gilder

The Lord is risen indeed,
He is here for your love, for your need
Not in the grave, nor the sky,
But here where men live and die;
And true the word that was said:
''Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

Wherever are tears and sighs,
Wherever are children's eyes.
Where man calls man his brother.
And loves as himself another,
Christ lives ! The angels said :
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

The Basket of The Day

Pysanka Egg for Easter

The Basket of The Day by Priscilla Leonard

Into the basket of thy day
Put each thing good and each thing gay
That thou canst find along thy way.

Neglect no joy, however small,
And it shall verily befall
Thy day can scarcely hold them all.

Within the basket of thy day
Let nothing evil find its way.
And let no frets and worries stay.

So shall each day be brave and fair.
Holding of joy its happy share.
And finding blessings everywhere.

The Paschal New-Moon

THE PASCHAL NEW-MOON

1.
WELCOME thou little bow of light,
Faint gleaming in the Western height
O'er Day's decline!
Thou, to the busy world of men,
Art but the month begun again;
But to this eye of mine
Lighted by Faith's diviner ken,
A season and a sign.

2.
Welcome, reflected in the rill,
Thine image on the waters, chill
From melting snows:
But brighter, in the depths serene,
Of my glad soul, thy sacred sheen
The Church's index shows;
Regent of holy-tides, and Queen
Of Easter's dawn and close.

3.
Thou hast been waited for: the lore
Of holy sages, long before
Hath marked thy day:
For with thy heavenly march sublime,
The Paschal-eve and Paschal-prime
One Lord, one law, obey;
The Church hath calendar'd thy time,
And traced thy starry way.

4.
And key-note of her Easter-song,
Is thy sweet tune, thy path along
In yon blue deep:
We watch thy crescent, till its rim
Is filled with glory to the brim,
And still our fast we keep;
Then, tide-like, swells our Easter-hymn,
Round the whole earth to sweep.

5.
Thou bringest cheer; thou endest days
Of fast with feast, of plaint with praise,
Of rue with balm.
Beauty for ashes thou dost bring;
The oil of joy for sorrowing;
For grief thou bringest calm;
Thou changes! tears to triumphing,
And Litany to Psalm.

6.
The bow of Joseph, thou! Thy light
Reminds me of the Hebrew's right
And Egypt's wrong;
Reminds me of Mosaic priests,
Their hyssop-branch, their bleeding beasts,
The prophet's goodly throng;
Their bitter herbs, unleavened feasts,
And hallelujah-song:

7.
Reminds me of that night of gloom;
The Twelve, the One, the upper-room;
The Bread and Wine:
Of Olivet remindeth me,
Of Kedron and Gethsemane;
Of Thee, Redeemer mine!
Thy cross, Thy cries, Thy victory,
Stupendous love divine.

8.
O Paschal moon, to wax and wane,
Though short thy date, how wide thy reign
Afar and near.
Thou art the Church's harvest-moon:
She sows in tears, but reapeth, soon,
A sheaf for every tear.
Shine on! We catch thy heavenly tune,
And shout the harvest-cheer.

Proem

To Mary And Elizabeth, In Paradise

Proem

1.

THE rainbow oft, on tears of April-tide,
In the sweet week of Easter, we behold;
Its bow of beauty, like the Crucified
Bending from heaven, all nature to enfold
In Love's embrace. Then from that throne of
gold,
'Mid iris-lustres, in the highest sphere,
Seems to bend down its arch of emerolde;
And Paradise, it seemeth very near,
As if the dwellers there perchance our sighs
might hear.

2.
Sweet sisters, in repose ye wear new names,
Yet let me dream ye hearken. Once, in time,
Ye were my muses, and ev'n more than fame's
I courted your applause, in youth's glad prime,
When oft ye listened to my boyish rhyme
With eyes that shone, as now they shine in
bliss.
Ah, borne too early to abodes sublime,
Fain would I know ye take it not amiss
Though angels' songs ye hear to list a lay like
this.

3.
Ye cannot hear my later songs, alas !
Ye dearest ones that deign'd to praise my first :
So grieved the Weimar poet, in the glass
Of memory gazing on fair forms that nurst
His young adventure, ere its blossoms burst
In fancy's flowers and fragrance. Such my
thought
When for these songs, my last perchance my
worst,
I coveted your ear. Yet are they fraught
With His dear Name of Names, who our redemp-
tion bought.

4.
We grew together, lov'd by one whose pride
Watched o'er the budding of your loveliness ;
Nor knew we, for too soon, alas ! ye died,
All that he wrought our tender years to
bless,
Mingling wise counsel with his fond caress.
Wisdom and wit were his, and nature gave
His manly heart a maiden's tenderness;
And Christian hope adorns his lowly grave,
Where, on the field he fell, Christ's soldier, true
and brave.


5.
Nor less, while your sweet life was link'd with
mine,
I shared her love, who o'er your cradle bent
And trained your earliest thought to thoughts
divine:
For oft to me her kindly care was lent
In words of cheer, with gentle warning blent,
When to the poet's shell I tuned my youth.
She loved all arts the soul that ornament,
And wing'd her nestlings, like young birds for-
sooth,
To soar aloft betimes and bask in light and truth.

6.
We parted, where the snow-peaks all aglow
Shone like an opal, and the setting sun
Flamed o'er the Pyrenees, in pleasant Pau,
Along the vale where restless Gave doth run :
And as we gazed, each an enraptured one,
Tvvas well we heard no voices, save our own ;
For seem'd our life beginning when 'twas
done;
And with that sunset, oh ! forever flown
Are joys so long we knew, and hopes no longer
known.

7.
Yet may I glean a moral from that day
Of parting, and its light o'er mount and glen,
For in the Sun's own clime, the poets say
He reigns at sunset, wears no crown till then.
So goes the adage, too, of meaner men ;
The end crowns labor. Welcome life's soft
eve
Who sings the Resurrection cries Amen,
As lengthening shadows mark the hour to leave
This life's deceitful scene, for scenes that ne'er
deceive.

8.
Ev'n as a bird forgets its wonted note
When death o'ershades its bower, and comes
no more
The smile that seemed upon its song to dote,
So when ye slept, my listless hand gave o'er
And lost its cunning; for I grieved heart-sore,
Tuneless my shell and unfulfilled my dream.
Now, faith reproacheth that I thus forbore;
Wake, languid shell nor moan, by Babel's stream;
Wake, from the willows wake, to Faith's trans-
porting theme.

9.
Yes, wake my soul, in swan-like notes to sing
Of that blest home, where, nevermore to die,
To them that slept comes Life's eternal spring,
Where Love enthron'd all human tears shall
dry,
Hearts claim their kin and brightens eye to eye.
Sweet sisters, ye are safe. For me, how rife
Perils of conflict, ev'n as years draw nigh
That bring the grateful furlough after strife,
And shines our even-star, the dawn of deathless
life. 

Easter Day by May Riley Smith

Easter Day

by May Riley Smith

O sad, sad soul, fling wide your doors,

And make your windows curtainless!

Strew odors on your silent floors,

And all your walls with lilies dress!

Throw open every sombre place;

Roll every hindering stone away!

Let Easter sunshine gild your face,

And bless you with its warmth to-day!

Let friends renew each by-gone hour,

Let children fling the world a kiss:

And every hand tie in some flower,

To crown a day so good as this!

And whether skies are sad or clear,

We'll give the day to joy and song:

For since the Christ is surely here,

All things are right, and naught is wrong!

Dawn

Dawn

by F. P. Carrigan

Look up to where the hills

are flushed

With dawn's red pencilings

Look up to where an angel goes

On silver-flashing wings;

Look up to where the lark of morn

Is soaring whilst he sings.

Look up! the clouds of yesterday

Have vanished with the night;

Like some sweet dream that

follows toil

The present greets the sight;

Look up! the dawn of dawns has come

In majesty and might.

Easter-Tide

Easter-Tide

by Mary Lowe Dickinson

"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.

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The Crescent And The Cross

THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS

BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

Kind was my friend who, in the Eastern land,

Remembered me with such a gracious hand,

And sent this Moorish Crescent, which has been

Worn on the haughty bosom of a queen.

No more it sinks and rises in unrest

To the soft music of her heathen breast;

No barbarous chief shall bow before it more,

No turban'd slave shall envy and adore.

I place beside this relic of the Sun

A Cross of cedar brought from Lebanon,

Once borne, perchance, by some pale monk who trod

The desert to Jerusalem - and his God !

Here do they lie, two symbols of two creeds,

Each meaning something to our human needs;

Both stained with blood, and sacred made by faith,

By tears and prayers, and martyrdom and death.

That for the Moslem is, but this for me!

The waning Crescent lacks divinity:

It gives me dreams of battles, and the woes

Of women shut in dim seraglios.

But when this Cross of simple wood I see,

The Star of Bethlehem shines again for me,

And glorious visions break upon my gloom -

The patient Christ, and Mary at the tomb.

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Heart's Flower

Heart's Flower

by Marion Mosbie

There grew a little flower once

That blossomed in a day;

Some said it would ever bloom,

And some, 'twould fade away.

Some said it was happiness,

And some said it was Spring,

Some said it was grief and tears

And many such a thing.

But still the little flower bloomed

And still it lived and throve,

Men do call it "Summer Growth,"

But angels call it "Love."

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An Easter Offering

AN EASTER OFFERING

Ada Stewart Shelton

"Neither will I offer unto the Lord my God that which doth cost me nothing.'"

Within a crowded dwelling-place,
Climbing its narrow stair,
A little maid is toiling slow,
Who in her hand doth bear
A jug of water, which she guards
And holds with anxious care.

Slowly she climbs the stairway dim,
So narrow, steep, and high,
To where her little window looks
Out on a patch of sky;
And o'er a flower upon its ledge
She bends with loving eye.

The only treasure that is hers!
She dreams of it by night,
Guards it by day; the blue eyes watch
Its opening to the light.
Was ever lily seen before
So pure, so fair, so white?

Soon, very soon, is drawing near
The blessed Easter Day,
When from a grateful, loving heart
We give our best away.
What offering could the dear child make?
She ponders day by day.

Such scanty earnings naught could yield,
From them she fears to take ;
But there upon the window-ledge-
Oh! can she, can she make
Such sacrifice, and give her flower
For Easter - and His sake ?

The glad-voiced bells are chiming clear,
The dim-lit church is sweet
With font and chancel filled with flowers,
This Easter morn to greet,
When up the silent aisle there comes
A child with faltering feet.

Softly the notes from organ grand
Are stealing through the air;
Beneath the Altar's gleaming cross
She lays the lily fair,
And then all timidly she kneels,
And clasps her hands in prayer.
 

'Tis all I have," she murmurs low,
"Dear Lord, to give to Thee,
And so I bring this flower I love.
An offering from me;
For on this holy Easter Day
Thy child I pray to be."

Amid the throng at service hour,
In anthem, chant, and hymn,
One sweet voice rang, until it made
The older eyes grow dim;
They did not know what filled her heart
With gladness to the brim.

The best that it was hers to give,
That she had given away;
Not "that which cost her nothing," but
What nearest her heart lay.
Lord, grant that we may also give
Our best on Easter Day.