Poems (Blake)/Resurrection

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

For works with similar titles, see Resurrection.

RESURRECTION!  LINCOLN. EASTER, 1865.

Once more across the Winter's gloom
  The Springtime calls with balmy breath,
  Shakes all the trancèd calm of death,
And bids it wake to sudden bloom;

Flashes across the upland slope
  And on the mountain-tops unfurled
  Flings out her standards to the world,—
Fit emblem of our future hope;

Woos with a long sweet summer note
  From where the Southern sunshine smiles,
  The minstrels of our forest aisles,
To fill the wood with tuneful throat,

And, resting on the barren plain,
  Lifts her fair hands in blessing fond,
  And on the waiting land beyond
Writes "Resurrexit" once again.

To-day, a cloud is in the air;
  A vail across the sunshine drifts
  Whose sombre shadow scarcely lifts
To show the promise hiding there.

A nation's sorrow, still and deep
  And darkly wrapped in shroud and pall,
  Brings mourning to the hearts of all,
And tears from eyes unused to weep.

What blame, if for a little space
  We cannot pierce the gathered gloom,
  Nor look beyond the open tomb,
But only watch the pale, dead face;

What blame, if shrinking from the blow,
  The pleasant paths of life should seem
  But some false fading fleeting dream,—
And change be writ on all below.

——————

But not for long; the dread shall cease
  And laugh our broken faith to scorn,
  For us in some fair dawning morn,
For him in God's eternal peace.

For us in that deep strength that springs
  From some swift blow divinely deep,
  That wakes the slumbering soul from sleep
And lifts it to sublimer things.

For both the grave mark rolled away
  The stain of blood, the shock of war
  Lost in the light of peace afar,
The Springtime's Resurrection Day!