A MAGDALEN'S EASTER CRY.

In the different mansions of heavenly space Prepared for the faithful and pure, (Ah me, for the faithful and pure!) Can I dare hope to find e'en a small resting place Free from sin and all earthly allure? Can a soul such as mine, that has wasted life's wealth On the baubles and gewgaws of time, (Ah me, on the baubles of time!) Have a fitting strength left to regain needed health For the life of a heavenly clime? For a life where the laws of the spirit, not sense, Bring their perfect eternal reward, (Ah me, their eternal reward!) And the pleasures obtained with such fever intense Can find nowhere a vibrating chord? Oh, woe is me, woe is me, this Easter day! No hope riseth up in my soul. (Ah me, my poor sin-laden soul!) I have only the dregs of my pleasure to pay, And such wrong, bitter thoughts of life's whole. But, listen! What's that? What's that message I hear Bearing down on my sad troubled heart? (Ah me, on my sad troubled heart!) "Christ is risen indeed. He is risen to cheer, And His strength to the weakest impart." O Christ, can it be that Thine own risen strength Can give life, added life, to my soul, To my sin-laden, weak, starving soul? Yes, 'tis true. I'll believe, and rejoice now at length To feel Easter's sweet joy o'er me roll.