Poem April 20, 1935 Issue

The Interim

HAZEL HARPER HARRIS BRANDNER

An early April dusk came down upon
Jerusalem and tragic Golgotha.
The sun, which had refused its light at noon,
Now fled the sky, leaving his crimson tunic;
Grim clouds looked down upon Mount Calvary,
And one lone star stood trembling in the gloom.

The little company of Jesus' friends,
Who had with saddened hearts laid him to rest
Within the garden, went their various ways—
The wealthy Joseph, who had given them
A new rock tomb and linen for the shroud,
With Nicodemus, who had brought in turn
A hundred pounds of aloes and of myrrh,
And others—all went home as Joseph rolled
The stone in place before the sepulcher,
Except two women, Mary Magdalene,
And one named Mary, mother of two sons.
They tarried in the dusk, hand clasped in hand,
And knew not that another sun would bring
A Roman guard on heavy, tramping feet
To seal the tomb and spend the interim
Between death's claim and Life's victorious morn
In jestful watch, in sleep, or playing dice.

As darkness deepened, these two women turned
Their steps toward home and yellow light of lamp,
And thought no record of the interim
Between their lighten lamp and Easter dawn
Is written in the Book, perhaps they spent
The time in prayer or singing tuneful psalms.
Perhaps they called Salome and prepared
The spices for a treasured jar,
For when the Sabbath night had spent its hours,
They took their journey to the sepulcher
Before the dawning of the next new day.
Perhaps, too, they recalled the Saviour's words,
Which shone like jewels in their memory,
As they approached the garden of the tomb.

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