On Easter Morn
By Edith M. Thomas
I had not known that I was dead.
Until I heard it softly said
By the quick grass above my head.
And the many-budded thorn.
On Easter morn.
"Yea, thou art dead " (these whispered me),-
"Dead long ago; none seeketh thee ;
Thy sealed eyes shall never see
The Lord of Life put death to scorn
On Easter morn."
I said, "One thing deny me not:
With all your bloom and verdure plot
To make my grave the fairest spot
That by His footsteps shall be worn
On Easter morn."
Then in the dim and sighing hour
Ere over the darkness light hath power,
They wrought together -- blade and flower --
The mold above me to adorn
For Easter morn.
I felt His footsteps pause and stay,
Felt the sweet searching light of day.
"Rise grateful dust!" I heard Him say:
"For thee have I put death to scorn
On Easter morn."
No comments:
Post a Comment