Caroling Dusk/The Resurrection
For works with similar titles, see Resurrection.
THE RESURRECTION
His friends went off and left Him deadIn Joseph’s subterranean bed,Embalmed with myrrh and sweet aloes,And wrapped in snow-white burial clothes.
Then shrewd men came and set a sealUpon His grave, lest thieves should stealHis lifeless form away, and claimFor Him an undeserving fame.
“There is no use,” the soldiers said,“Of standing sentries by the dead.”Wherefore, they drew their cloaks aroundThemselves, and fell upon the ground,And slept like dead men, all night through,In the pale moonlight and chilling dew.
A muffled whiff of sudden breathRuffled the passive air of death.
He woke, and raised Himself in bed; Recalled how He was crucified;Touched both hands’ fingers to His head, And lightly felt His fresh-healed side.
Then with a deep, triumphant sigh,He coolly put His grave-clothes by―Folded the sweet, white winding sheet, The toweling, the linen bands, The napkin, all with careful hands―And left the borrowed chamber neat.
His steps were like the breaking day: So soft across the watch He stole, He did not wake a single soul,Nor spill one dewdrop by the way.
Now Calvary was loveliness: Lilies that flowered thereuponPulled off the white moon’s pallid dress, And put the morning’s vesture on.
“Why seek the living among the dead?He is not here,” the angel said.
The early winds took up the words,And bore them to the lilting birds,The leafing trees, and everythingThat breathed the living breath of spring.