Monday, February 5, 2018

After Easter

After Easter
by Mary Lowe Dickinson

The Easter praises may falter 
And die with the Easter Day,
The blossoms that brightened the altar
In sweetness may fade away;
But, after the silence and fading
Lingers, untold and unpriced,
Above all changing and shading,
The love of the living Christ

For the living Christ is loving.
And the loving Christ is alive!
His life, hidden in us, is moving
Us ever to pray and to strive.
Alas! that e'en in our striving
We labor like spirits in prison,
Forgetting that Jesus is living,
Forgetting the Savior has risen!

We join in the Easter rejoicing,
And echo each gladdening strain,
While a pitiful minor is voicing
Our own secret doubting or pain.
We weave him a shroud of our sadness,
We cover his smile with our gloom,
And drive back the angel of gladness
That waits at the door of the tomb.

We forget that our own hearts have hidden
Our Christ in a grave of our own;
We forget that our own hands are bidden
To roll from the threshold the stone.
Yet our tearful eyes, drooping and weary
With watching in sorrow and fear,
Might see, with the heart-broken Mary,
That the Lord is alive - and is near.

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