THE FIRST EASTER DAWN.
The night is past, the thunder's roar
In distance dies away;
And in the east, a gleam of light
Foretells the coming day;
And women, bearing spices sweet,
Are hast'ning on their way
Toward that tomb, so dark and deep,
Where Jesus' body lay.
"But who," these faithful women ask,
And pause upon their way,—
"When we have reached our Master's tomb,
Who'll roll the stone away?"
At last they reach the hallowed spot,—
The tomb that Joseph made,
Wherein, three days before, their loved
And loving Lord was laid.
The glory of the golden sun
Fills budding woods with light,
The morning dewdrops sparkle on
The Easter lilies white.
Sweet odor from the hyacinth
Upon the breeze is borne;
All nature now proclaims with joy,
"It is the world's first morn!"
The women stand beside the tomb
In deep surprise and fear;
For lo! the stone is rolled away—
Their Master is not there.
Impulsive Mary Magdalene
Stays not, but hastens on
That she may tell the wondrous news
To Peter and to John.
She tells them and they come with her
Unto the hallowed place,
And find it just as she has said—
Of Jesus there's no trace.
Then silently they turn and go
Each on his way—save one;
'Tis loving Mary Magdalene
Who stays and weeps alone.
She's thinking now of days when friends
Away from her all turned,
When thoughtless Mary Magdalene
By all the world was spurned.
How Jesus, in His wondrous love,
Had touched her heart within,
And led her into righteous paths
From those of vilest sin.
And as she weeps, she stoops and looks
Into the sepulcher,
And sees two angels sitting there
Who kindly say to her:
"Why weepest thou, oh, woman?"
And Magdalene replies,
"Because they've taken away my Lord;
I know not where He lies."
As Mary speaks she turns around—
Another form is there!
She thinks it is the gardener,
Who kindly says to her:
"Whom seekest thou, oh, woman?
Why stand ye weeping there?"
Says Mary, "If you've borne Him hence,
Oh, please, sir, tell me where."
The Saviour's loving heart is touched;
(For it is He who speaks—
Her loving Lord and Master, whom
So earnestly she seeks).
He draws a little closer now,
That she her Lord may know,
And answers only, "Mary,"
In accents soft and low.
She raises now her tearful eyes,
They are no longer blind;
For none but He could speak her name
So tenderly and kind.
Forgetting, in her love so blind
The cause for which He'd died,—
Forgetting all save at His feet
No harm can her betide,
With beating heart and outstretched arms
She flies her Lord to greet.
"Rabboni!" then she kneels among
The lilies at His feet.
He looks with tend'rest pity on
That face with tears still wet,
And says "You must not touch me now;
I will not leave you yet.
"But by and by I will ascend
Unto my God and thine;
Go thou and tell, when thou dost find
Those true disciples mine."
The day is spent, the lily folds
Her leaves upon her breast;
The violets close their dewy eyes
And sweetly sink to rest.
The westland crimson glory fades
From hilltop, wood, and lawn,
Night's tender dews fall softly o'er
The world's First Easter Dawn.