BURIED WITH CHRIST.
Moans of sharpest agony,
Faintly moaning ceaselessly,
"Earth is all one grave to me!"
Greenest fields but churchyard turf,
Sunniest seas but deadly surf;
Purest skies one vaulted tomb,
Death in all homes most at home.
Moans of sharpest agony!
Back from far they came to me,
Echoed from the crystal sea,
As a chant of victory;
From the sea's translucent verge
Back in triumph pealed the dirge:—
"Earth is all one grave to thee?
What besides could earth now be,
Since He died upon the tree,
Since He died on earth for thee?
Since beneath it He lay, dim,
Cold and still each tortured limb,
Buried are His own with Him,
Yet the dirge is all a hymn.
Wouldst thou take the crypt's chill damps,
And its few sepulchral lamps,
For His temple spaces high,
For His depths of starry sky?
Wouldest thou? Not so would they
Who one moment breathe His day,
Who for one brief moment's space
Have the vision of His face.
Earth has light for earth's great strife,—
Where He liveth, there is Life.
"Earth is all one grave to thee?
Yet lift up thine eyes and see!
For the stone is rolled away,
And He standeth there to-day;
Patiently by thee will stay
Till thy heart 'Rabboni' say!
(He will not forget the clay,
Thine, nor theirs, by night or day.)
That 'Rabboni!' faint through fears,
Sobbed in agony of tears,—
That alone thy heart can clear
Those far-off Amens to hear,
That alone can tune thy heart
In those songs to take her part.
"Then thy cry of agony:
'Earth is all one grave to me,'
Echoing shall come back to thee
In a chant of victory,
Echoed from the crystal sea,
From the living victors free,
Ransomed everlastingly."