Poem April 15, 1933 Issue

Easter

MARION STUART HOWE

When it was dark, ah! that was long ago,
When grief and sorrow sore oppressed the heart,
And night did seem as if it ne'er would end,
With willing hands they made the ointment rare,
Prepared the fragrant spices sweet and pure,
Their service last to him they mourned as dead;
Then patiently they waited for the dawn.

At last it came, faint herald of the day;
Though all around about them yet was dark,
They ventured forth, and slowly went their way
Unto the grave they thought could hold their Lord.
Then someone whispered, one of fearful heart:
What of the heavy stone that bars the door?
No strength have we to roll that rock away.

E'en then they did not falter or despair,
But firm in purpose, full of faith and love,
They turned not back, but still went bravely on,
And in the morn entered that garden fair—
The day had come! They lifted up their eyes
And looked, and lo! the stone was rolled away,
And on it sat an angel-guest of God.

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