W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
Easter Day
John Keble (1792–1866)O
No “ministrel rapture,” find for thee!
Thou art the Sun of other days,
They shine by giving back thy rays:
Thou shedd’st thy light on all the year:
Sundays by thee more glorious break,
An Easter Day in every week:
The fulness of thy blessing gain,
Till all, both resting and employ,
Be one Lord’s day of holy joy.
And earlier light thine altar fires:
The world some hours is on her way,
Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day:
The vernal light of Easter morn
To her dark gaze no brighter seems
Than Reason’s or the Law’s pale beams.
“Where is His hire? we know His tasks;
Sons of a King ye boast to be;
Let us your crowns and treasures see.”
(An Angel brought them from the sky),
“Our Crown, our treasure is not here,
’Tis stored above the highest sphere:
To seek on earth a Christian’s bliss;
We watch not now the lifeless stone;
Our only Lord is risen and gone.”
For thoughts of Him who late lay here;
And the base world, now Christ hath died,
Ennobled is and glorified.
The relics of lost innocence,
A vault of ruin and decay;—
Th’ imprisoning stone is roll’d away:
To come and go with heavenly news,
And in the ears of mourners say,
“Come see the place where Jesus lay:”
Christ everywhere embalm’d and shrin’d;
Aye gathering up memorials sweet,
Where’er she sets her duteous feet.
When roused from weeping o’er His shroud,
By His own calm, soul-soothing tone,
Breathing her name, as still His own!
As their glad errand they pursued!
Happy, who so Christ’s words convey,
That He may meet them on their way!
In lonely hours, Christ risen appears:
In social hours, who Christ would see,
Must turn all tasks to Charity.