13
"HOW ARE THE DEAD RAISED UP?"(I. Corinthians xv. 33.)
"How are the dead raised up?" Who, who can tell?It is a mystery too great, too deepFor finite mind to fathom. Language failsTo teach the mighty, thought-transcending truth,All apprehension is completely foiled,All research disappointed.
Are they thenUnworthy credence—God's great promisesOf endless life and glory? Shall there beNo resurrection unto power and blissBecause we cannot sound the depths of God?Oh, trust we thankfully, while yet awhileWe know so little of divine resource,While to all anxious, curious questionings,Baffled and wondering, our ignoranceCan only echo, "How?"
But this I know,—That in the autumn of last year the leavesFell from the trees, which all the winter longStood cold and bare, and seemingly all dead,But now again they live, a glorious host,Wearing their beautiful green coronals.Science has mastered many a mysteryAnd Nature's secrets proved; yet evermoreRemains th' unanswered, unsolved question: "How—How comes this miracle?"
And this I know,—I watched a caterpillar many a day,Until it crept to earth and hid itself,A shrivelled, cold, repulsive, death-like thing;There for long weeks it lay, almost forgot,But one bright day emerged therefrom a life,"A fluttering thing of beauty unsurpassed,Oh, who can tell me how?
