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So be it now : the secret dark
In mercy may He keep from thee,
At sense of unknown ill.
Oh much we need a loving spell,
Whom we too oft have tempted nigh,
O surely, happy child,
“ It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.”
THE Primroses with kindly gleam
Are looking out from bower and brake :
As if no heart on earth could ache.
Yet He, the Sun who yester even
Set in that wild tempestuous gloom,
Still lingers in the dreary tomb.
Nor blame our peace : for He will rise,
His veil for evermore withdrawn.
So pure, as shall to-morrow dawn.
'Tis in that faith the flowers of Earth
best make speed to wear, And e'en the funeral mound gives birth
To wild thyme fresh and violets fair.
Stoop, little child, nor fear to kiss
The green buds on this bed of death. Thou hast thy first baptismal bliss,
Like new-born babe's, thy fragrant breath.
Thy fragrant breath with this sweet air
From briar and turf may duly blend : But keep it pure with Fast and Prayer,
Come early near, and lowly bend.
“I found Him whom my soul loveth: I held Him, and would not let Him go."
'Twas at the matin hour, early before the dawn, The prison-doors flew open, the bolts of death were
drawn. 'Twas at the matin hour, when prayers of Saints are
strong, Where, two short days ago, He bore the spitting,
wounds, and wrong, From realms unseen, an unseen way th’Almighty
Saviour came, And following on His silent steps an Angel arm'd in
flame. The stone is roll’d away, the keepers fainting fall ; Satan's and Pilate's watchmen—the Day has scar’d The Angel came full early, but Christ had gone
before, The Breath of Life, the Living Soul, had breath'd
itself once more Into the sacred Body that slumber'd in the tomb, As still and lowly, as erewhile in th' undefiled womb. And surely not in folds so bright the spotless winding
sheet Inwrapt Him, nor such fragrance pour'd the myrrh
and aloes sweet, As when in that chaste Bosom, His awful bed, He
lay, And Mary's prayer around Him rose, like incense,
night and day.
And even as when her hour was come, He left His
Mother mild A royal Virgin evermore, heavenly and undefild, So left the glorious Body the rock it slumber'd on, And spirit-like in silence past, nor touch'd the sealed