H. H. Milman.
“Come forth!” He cries, “thou dead!”
O God, what means that strange and sudden sound,
That murmurs from the tomb? That ghastly head,
With funeral fillets bound?
It is a living form—
The loved, the lost, the won,
Won from the grave, corruption, and the worm—
“And is not this the Son
Of God?” they whispered, while the sisters poured