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