Weeper! to thee how bright a morn was given
After thy long, long vigil of despair,
When that high voice which burial-rocks had riven
Thrill’d with immortal tones the silent air!
Never did clarion’s royal blast declare
Such tale of victory to a breathless crowd,
As the deep sweetness of one word could bear
Into thy heart of hearts, O woman! bow’d
By strong affection’s anguish! one low word—
“Mary!” and all the triumph wrung from death