Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

All is o'er;—the pain, the sorrow,—
Human taunts, and fiendish spite;
Death shall be despoil'd to-morrow
Of the prey he grasps to-night;
Yet once more, to seal his doom,
Christ must sleep within the tomb.

II

Close and still the cell that holds him,
While in brief repose he lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds him
Veil'd awhile from mortal eyes:—
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard-won victory.

III

Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder cross he bore;
How did soul and body languish,
Till the toil of death was o'er!
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crush'd the serpent's head.

IV

Whither hath his soul departed?—
Roams it on some blissful shore,

100

Where the meek and faithful-hearted,
Vext by this world's hate no more,
Wait, until the trump of doom
Call their bodies from the tomb?

V

Or, on some benignant mission,
To the imprison'd spirits sent,
Hath he to their dark condition
Gleams of hope and mercy lent?—
Souls not wholly lost of old,
When o'er earth the deluge roll'd!

VI

Ask no more;—the abyss is deeper
E'en than angels' thoughts may scan;
Come and watch the heavenly sleeper;
Come and do what mortals can,
Reverence meet toward Him to prove,
Faith, and trust, and humble love.

VII

Far away, amidst the regions
Of the bright and balmy east,
Guarded by angelic legions
Till Death's slumber shall have ceased,
(How should we its stillness stir?)
Lies the Saviour's sepulchre.

VIII

Far away;—yet thought would wander
(Thought by Faith's sure guidance led),
Farther yet to weep and ponder
Over that sepulchral bed.
Thither let us haste and flee
On the wings of phantasy.

101

IX

Haste, from every clime and nation,
Fervent youth, and reverend age;
Peasant, prince,—each rank and station,
Haste, and join this pilgrimage.
East and west, and south and north,
Send your saintliest spirits forth.

X

Mothers, ere the curtain closes
Round your children's sleep to-night,
Tell them how their Lord reposes,
Waiting for to-morrow's light;
Teach their dreams to Him to rove,
Him who loved them, Him they love.

XI

Matron grave and blooming maiden,
Hoary sage and beardless boy,
Hearts with grief and care o'erladen,
Hearts brimful of hope and joy,
Come and greet, in death's dark hall,
Him who felt with, felt for all.

XII

Men of God, devoutly toiling
This world's fetters to unbind;
Satan of his prey despoiling
In the hearts of human kind;
Let to-night your labours cease,
Give your care-worn spirits peace.

XIII

Ye who roam o'er seas and mountains,
Messengers of love and light;
Ye who guard Truth's sacred fountains
Weary day and wakeful night;

102

Men of labour, men of lore,
Give your toils and studies o'er.

XIV

Dwellers in the woods and valleys,
Ye of meek and lowly breast;
Ye who, pent in crowded alleys,
Labour early, late take rest;
Leave the plough, and leave the loom,
Meet us at our Saviour's tomb.

XV

From your halls of stately beauty,
Sculptured roof and marble floor,
In this work of Christian duty
Haste, ye rich, and join the poor,
Mean and noble, bond and free,
Meet in frank equality.

XVI

Lo, His grave! the grey rock closes
O'er that virgin burial-ground;
Near it breathe the garden roses,
Trees funereal droop around;
In whose boughs the small birds rest,
And the stock-dove builds her nest.

XVII

And the moon with floods of splendour
Fills the spicy midnight air;
Tranquil sounds and voices tender
Speak of life and gladness there,
Ne'er was living thing, I wot,
Which our Lord regarded not.

XVIII

Bird, and beast, and insect rover,—
E'en the lilies of the field,

103

Till His gentle life was over,
Heavenly thought to Him could yield:
All that is to Him did prove
Food for wisdom, food for love.

XIX

But the hearts that bow'd before Him
Most of all to Him were dear;
Let such hearts to-night watch o'er Him,
Till the day-spring shall appear;
Then a brighter sun shall rise
Than e'er kindled up the skies.

XX

All night long, with plaintive voicing,
Chaunt his requiem, soft and low;
Loftier strains of loud rejoicing
From to-morrow's harps shall flow.
“Death and hell at length are slain,
Christ hath triumph'd, Christ doth reign.”

April 2nd, 1836.

I Peter, iii. 19, 20.