The Lord is a captive no more—“He is risen.”
Cunningham.
I saw two women weeping by the tomb
Of one new buried, in a fair green place,
Bower’d with shrubs; the eye retained no trace
Of aught that day performed; but the faint gloom
Of dying day was spread upon the sky.
The moon was broad and bright above the wood;
The distance sounded of a multitude,
Music, and shout, and mingled revelry.