Classic Poem

They came, bringing spices, at break of the day
With hearts heavy-laden and sore,
And, lo, from the tomb was the stone rolled away,
An angel sat there by the door!
‘Why seek ye the living 'mid emblems of death?
Not here, he is risen,’ the shining one saith.

O type through the ages and symbol of faith,
Whose spirit is true evermore:
The hearts we have cherished we lose not in death,
The grave over love hath no power.
There sitteth the angel, there speaketh the word,—
‘Not here, they are risen,’ in silence is heard.

O ye who still watch in the valley of tears
And wait for the night to go by,
Lift, lift up your eyes, on the mountains appears
The day-spring of God from on high!
He turneth the shadows of night into day,—
‘Not here, they are risen,’ his shining ones say.