EASTER DAY, 1915
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The stars die out on Avon's watchful breast, While simple shepherds climb through shadows grey, With beating bosoms up the Wrekin's Crest To see the sun "dance in" an Easter Day Whose dawning consummates three centuries— Since Shakespeare's death and entrance to the skies— Resolved the radiant miracle not to miss Reserved alone to earliest opened eyes. We, too, with faces set towards the East, Our joyful orison offerings yielding up Keep with our risen Lord His Pascal feast From Paten Blest and Consecrated Cup, And give Him thanks Who of all realms of Earth Made England richest by her Shakespeare's birth. II "St. George for Merrie England!" let us cry And each a red rose pin upon his breast, Then face the foe with fearless front and eye Through all our frowning leaguer in the West. For not alone his Patron Day it is Wherefrom our noble George hath drawn his name; Three centuries and a half gone by ere this; By Shakespeare's birth it won a second fame. A greater glory is its crown to-day Since at its first and faintest uttered breath A mighty angel rolled the stone away That sealed His tomb Who captive now leads death, And thereby did the great example give. That they who die for others most shall live. |