When they beheld the rock-hewn bed
Whereon the Master lay,
I think they went with anguished hearts
To keep sad watch and pray.

They talked, I think, as women can
Within their still abode,
Of how his eyes seemed angel-pure
Upon Golgotha's road.

And how his gentle lips were kind
And kinder still when hate,
With curses and with cruel thorns,
Pronounced a felon's fate.

And so throughout the long night hours,
With hushed and holy word
They pondered on the truth he taught,
Until the morning stirred.

When Mary Magdalene came
And to the tomb drew near,
She saw two angels clad in white
Beside an empty bier.

Then from the depth of Christly faith
She sought her Lord indeed
Beyond the pale of mortal dream
That bitter law decreed.

And—"Mary!"—lo, she heard her name
In accents loved so well.
Upon her risen Master there
Her chastened vision fell.

For she had seen the Son of God—
The deathless child of Mind—
Within her liberated thought,
That grief nor ill could bind.

And as did Mary, so may we
From out the night of woe,
Reflecting immortality,
The living Saviour know.

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