Classic Poem

His friends went off and left Him dead
In Joseph's subterranean bed,
Embalmed with myrrh and sweet aloes,
And wrapped in snow-white burial clothes.

Then shrewd men came and set a seal
Upon His grave, lest thieves should steal
His lifeless form away, and claim
For Him an undeserving fame.

" There is no use, " the soldiers said,
" Of standing sentries by the dead. "
Wherefore, they drew their cloaks around
Themselves, and fell upon the ground,
And slept like dead men, all night through,
In the pale moonlight and chilling dew.

A muffled whiff of sudden breath
Ruffled the passive air of death.

He woke, and raised Himself in bed;
— — Recalled how He was crucified;
Touched both hands' fingers to His head,
— — And lightly felt His fresh-healed side.

Then with a deep, triumphant sigh,
He coolly put His grave-clothes by —
Folded the sweet, white winding sheet,
— — The toweling, the linen bands,
— — The napkin, all with careful hands —
And left the borrowed chamber neat.

His steps were like the breaking day:
— — So soft across the watch He stole,
— — He did not wake a single soul,
Nor spill one dewdrop by the way.

Now Calvary was loveliness:
— — Lilies that flowered thereupon
Pulled off the white moon's pallid dress,
— — And put the morning's vesture on.

" Why seek the living among the dead?
He is not here, " the angel said.

The early winds took up the words,
And bore them to the lilting birds,
The leafing trees, and everything
That breathed the living breath of spring.