XLV RESURRECTION
Reading edition
Hope, last of all the angels, left the three Who with their woman’s courage watched Christ die; But Hope, when she had fled, Returned to plant in them one humble flower, The thought that in His grey sepulchral bower They three might strew around the Dead The alms of one adoring sympathy, And pray a last good-bye.
They sped in silence, but the sharp-fanged doubt Lurked in the path to mock their pungent store Of spices, hissing, “Nay, Ye cannot reach the Tenant of that gloom.” But when the dawn and they retouched the tomb, They found the stone was rolled away, And He, their Life who died, now stood without, Alive for evermore.
Thus when we seek our buried innocence With bitter myrrh and grey-leaved rosemary, And writhing doubts delay Our steps towards the tomb of our desire, Do Thou, O Lord, our musing eyes inspire To see the stone is rolled away, And find that self has thrown its grave-clothes hence And risen to live free.