Then the dream of life is o'er,
Then they wake to sleep no more;
Then all earthly hopes shall fly
Like the mist in yonder sky,—
And that morning draweth nigh!
EASTER SUNDAY.
The old, the young, and the middle-aged all meet to-day in the house of prayer. From a thousand churches in our own and other lands the voice of praise and thanksgiving goes up to heaven—"The Lord is risen!" Oh glorious tidings! "The Lord is risen indeed," and hath appeared to Peter! aye, and to Mary also,—the poor sinner whose touch would have been profanation to the Pharisees of our own times. And still more wonderful, He hath appeared to Thomas—to Thomas the infidel, who laughed at the story of the resurrection!
THE RISEN REDEEMER.
Rejoice now, O sorrowing bride, for he sleeps no longer. Let thy glad songs of praise and adoration reach the skies, for the Lord is not among the dead—he is risen. "Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! shout, O daughter of Jerusalem!" for thy Savior has burst the iron bands of death and come forth a mighty conqueror. For thy sins he laid himself down in the icy tomb; he rises again for thy justification. For thy iniquities he suffered, died and was buried: he comes forth again that thou mayest be a sharer of his glory. He has hallowed the dreary tomb by his own dear presence, and now he has ascended to his Father and your Father, to his God and your God. He has taken his seat at the right hand of the Majesty on high, and there, despairing soul, trembling under the burden of sin, he pleads for thee (Heb. 7: 25). He points to the cross on Calvary, dripping with his own precious blood, and in a voice of tender compassion exclaims: "Father, I died for that wretched sinner; spare, oh spare him for my sake!" He has entered into the holy place by his own blood, having obtained eternal redemption for thee, O daughter of Zion.
DOST THOU REMEMBER ME?
O Thou whose footsteps are unknown,
Whose path is on the sea,—
Whose footstool earth, and heaven whose throne,
Dost Thou remember me?
O Thou whom winds and waves obey,
At whose supreme command
The shining worlds pursue their way,
Or in their orbits stand,—
Thou at whose touch the hills disperse,
And burning mountains flee,
Thou Ruler of the Universe,
Dost Thou remember me?
This world though fallen still is thine,
And dearer far to-day
Than all the countless orbs that shine
But never went astray.