Poem April 16, 1984 Issue

Easter morning

JOAN FRANCES SEYMOUR WOOD

Faithful, wondering Mary, lingering on,
Your last loving ministry for him not done.
Dare you look in, and through your tears make sure—
Make sure of what?
That his body has been stolen, taken?
Or that the foundations of death are shaken?

What was that? Did a bird waken?
Only the gardener. Ask him.
Ask anyone. Angels, gardeners, anyone, out of your grief and love.
"Sir, in mercy tell me, where has he been taken?"

His loved voice answering "Mary," that blessed Easter morning
When Mary was the first to know
What God had promised long ago
(Prophets foretold, and angels sang,
The story that through ages rang
How He would send His perfect Son
To Israel—whose God is One)
Was not a shadowed, far-off thing
But true
And clear as birds that sing, Love's morning to awaken.

JOAN FRANCES SEYMOUR WOOD

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