A Glimpse of Easter In The Azores

       Even the gray Lenten season wraps carnival's domino over its sackcloth and ashes for these people whose grace turns all to favor and prettiness; only the inevitable statues of the tortured Christ remind one of the season, and soon wounds and bruises are hidden by violets, heliotrope, and pansies (aniores perfeitos, they call them). To fast when one may feast is, in Azorean creed, lack of gratitude to a very good God, so Holy Thursday is a beautiful feast called Almond day, when one eats almond-sweets till he positively sickens at the shrill cry of almond-venders, which goes up from dawn till midnight.

       Good Friday is supposed to be the day of mourning, and in the churches the closing scenes of the Calvary tragedy are enacted. The three crosses rise on a rocky mound before the veiled high altar, whereon life-sized dummy figures are crucified by aid of pulleys and ropes and mechanical devices. The entombment takes place at a side altar, converted into a garden for the purpose, where life-sized figures in armor represent Roman sentinels. The Saturday continues Friday's gloom and darkness with the aid of much dreary chanting, till just at the hour of noon, when the droning clergy, marching round the church, pause before the chapel of the tomb in an instant's silence, there comes a cry of wonder at the discovery of the empty grave, and simultaneously with the cry the veils fall from the altars, and pictures, and the black curtains from the windows, letting a flood of light pour down on the crowded, excited people. The long-silent organ augmented by choir and orchestra, breaks out in triumph, the half-masted flags of the city run to the mast-head, and all the bells clash out their paean of joy. Henry Sandham

Easter Procession

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Easter Day

Green grassy cross for Easter morning.

Easter Day

by Josephine Rice Creelman

Morning
Oh, Easter anthems gladly sing.
Let all the bells from towers ring.
And sun dispel with brightening rays.
The darkness of the Passion days !
Fair lilies with their crystal light
And eager, joyous greetings bright
Proclaim the Lord has risen again,
And put asunder death and pain !

Evening
Now sweet the sound of Vesper-bells,
The hour of evening prayer foretells,
And comes a benediction calm,
That robs the soul of all alarm,
The sky has faded in the west.
The world sinks to its peaceful rest.
The Vesper Star a taper-light.
Shines through the dark of Easter night!

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Easter

Easter

by Genevieve M. J. Irons

Deep in yon garden-shade
The life of all is laid
In death's calm sleep;
Armed soldiers waiting near,
Amazed and full of fear,
Their vigil keep.
Angels, and stars, and the fair moon above.
Look down in silent awe and reverent love.

Through the dark cypress-trees
The gentle midnight breeze
Sighs a low wail;
Breath from the dewy ground
O'er the green earth around
Spreads a soft veil;
Each glade and valley, mountain, dale, and hill,
Echoes the solemn whisper, "Peace, be still."

Hushed Nature sinks to rest,
And on her Maker's breast
She falls asleep ;
Released from human woes.
The Almighty finds repose
In slumber deep ;
But saints are watching through the silent night.
In eager patience waiting for the light.

The mother undefiled
Is pondering on her Child,
Now crucified;
And through her tearless dreams
The cross in radiance beams,
Whereon he died.
Bright visions dawn. Behold ! the darkness flies,
Resplendent from the grave she sees him rise.

John the Beloved stands by,
Gazing with wondering eye
At Mary's smile ;
And angels at the sight,
Pause in their heavenward flight.
To muse awhile.
Yet the sun hides itself in dim eclipse,
While he awaits his full apocalypse.

Peter, who thrice denied
The Master at his side.
The Lord of all.
With penitential tears
And deep heart-searching fears.
Bewails his fall.
There, as he weeps in bitter grief apart,
His Savior's look speaks comfort to his heart.

The lowly Magdalene
(Of penitents the queen)
Waits for the morn.
When in that cave so still
Her task she may fulfill
Of love forlorn;
And first to her Christ risen shall appear,
Though in a form unknown he draweth near.

While he who longed to die
With Christ on Calvary,
Whose love devout
His Master proved and tried
By heartfelt prayer denied,
Must wait in doubt ;
Eight days of solemn gloom in darkness past,
On trustful Thomas he will shine at last.

But lo, the Sabbath ends !
Nocturn with matins blends.
The morning breaks ;
The shadows flee away
Before the rising day,
And Christ awakes !
Angels proclaim the anthem far and near,
" Ye seek your risen Lord; he is not here."

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The Apparition of Christ To His Mother

       The enthusiastic and increasing veneration for the Madonna, the large place she filled in the religious teaching of the ecclesiastics and the religious sentiments of the people, are nowhere more apparent, nor more strikingly exhibited, than in the manner in which she was associated with the scenes which followed the Passion; -- the manner in which some incidents were suggested, and treated with a peculiar reference to her, and to her maternal feelings. It is nowhere said that the Virgin-mother was one of the Maries who visited the tomb on the morning of the resurrection, and nowhere is she so represented. But out of the human sympathy with that bereaved and longing heart, arose the beautiful legend of the interview between Christ and his Mother after he had risen from the dead.

       There existed a very ancient tradition (it is mentioned by St. Ambrose in the fourth century, as being then generally accepted by Christians), that Christ, after his return from Hades, visited his Mother even before he appeared to Mary Magdalene in the garden. . . . The reasoning which led to the conclusion was very simple. He whose last earthly thought was for his mother would not leave her without that consolation it was in his power to give; and what, as a son, it was his duty to do (for the humanity of Christ is never forgotten by those who most intensely believed in his divinity) ; that, of course, he did do.

       The story is thus related: -- Mary, when all was "finished," retired to her chamber, and remained alone with her grief-- not wailing, not repining, not hopeless, but waiting for the fulfillment of the promise. Open before her lay the volume of the prophecies ; and she prayed earnestly, and she said, "Thou didst promise, O my most dear Son! that thou wouldst rise again on the third day. Before yesterday was the day of darkness and bitterness, and, behold, this is the third day. Return then to me thy mother; O my Son, tarry not, but come!" And while thus she prayed, lo! a bright company of angels, who entered waving their palms and radiant with joy ; and they surrounded her, kneeling and singing the triumphant Easter hymn, Regina Coeli Laetare, Alleluia! And then came Christ partly clothed in a white garment, having in his left hand the standard with the cross, as one just returned from the nether world, and victorious over the powers of sin and death. And with him came the patriarchs and prophets, whose long-imprisoned spirits he had released from Hades. All these knelt before the Virgin, and saluted her, and blessed her, and thanked her, because through her had come their deliverance. But, for all this, the Mother was not comforted till she had heard the voice of her Son. Then he, raising his hand in benediction, spoke and said, "I salute thee, O my mother! " and she, weeping tears of joy, responded, " Is it thou indeed, my most dear Son? " and she fell upon his neck, and he embraced her tenderly, and showed her the wounds he had received for sinful man. Then he bade her be comforted and weep no more, for the pain of death had passed away, and the gates of hell had not prevailed against him. And she thanked him meekly on her knees, for that he had been pleased to bring redemption to man, and to make her the humble instrument of his great mercy. And they sat and talked together, until he took leave of her to return to the garden, and to show himself to Mary Magdalene, who, next to his glorious mother, had most need of consolation. by Mrs. Jameson

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"Easter Week" full of singing and tweeting...

Easter Week

by Charles Kingsley

See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices,
Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild birds build and sing.

You to whom your Maker granted
Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;
Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,
Each his Easter tribute bring --
Work of fingers, chant of voices.
Like the birds who build and sing. 

 

        Now draw some birds in their nest in just a few steps, 1, 2, 3... They are singing a new Spring song to celebrate Easter morning for you, God and me!

It's really lots
Of fun to draw;
So let's put down
Some things I saw.

Sketch half a circle
Like this one;
Then several small ones
When that's done.

Some crooked lines,
An eye or two;
And two small birds
Peep out at you.

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