Poems (Gifford)/How are the Dead Raised up?

by Elizabeth Gifford

"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 deep
For finite mind to fathom. Language fails
To teach the mighty, thought-transcending truth,
All apprehension is completely foiled,
All research disappointed.

           Are they then
Unworthy credence—God's great promises
Of endless life and glory? Shall there be
No resurrection unto power and bliss
Because we cannot sound the depths of God?
Oh, trust we thankfully, while yet awhile
We know so little of divine resource,
While to all anxious, curious questionings,
Baffled and wondering, our ignorance
Can only echo, "How?"

           But this I know,—
That in the autumn of last year the leaves
Fell from the trees, which all the winter long
Stood 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 mystery
And Nature's secrets proved; yet evermore
Remains 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?

           And this I know,—
That in a stretch of bleak and barren soil
The sower buried some long rows of grain,
And left them there with little further heed,
Now there has sprung therefrom a waving crop.
Vainly we seek the body that was sown,
The seed has perished, yet is here again,
A plenteous harvest of the selfsame kind,
And much I wonder how.

           And this I know,—
I hid some little brown seeds in a spot
That I could closely watch; and soon appeared
Tiny twin leaflets, and then stalk and leaf,
Until to-day I have such lovely flowers.
I watched their gradual progress tenderly
From day to day, almost from hour to hour,
But all in vain I strove to comprehend
The wondrous magic of the fair plant's life.
I knew that rain and sun conduced to growth,
That the rich compost yielded nourishment,
That by a law of circularity,
The free sap glided through its every part,
Hastening on to perfect flower and seed,
And by a thousand subtle processes,
Known or unguessed the wondrous work went on,
But how I could not guess.

           And this I know,—
That yesternight I saw the red sun set
Beneath the far horizon, and for hours
It was away, invisible to us.
Then all was darkness and uncoloured gloom,
The beauty of the landscape disappeared,
And all the world seemed weird and desolate.
But the day dawned, and all was bright once more,
The night was spent, the darkness passed away,
The fair sun rose and shone, until at length
Earth's daily revolution was achieved.
Our savants tell of many a constant law
That controls this our planet, and explains
So much of marvel and perplexity,
Yet still recurs that question deep and grave:
"How, how can these things be?"

           And this I know,—
That in the darkness I lay down last night
And fell asleep, and through the silent hours
I rested calmly and unconsciously;
I nothing heard or saw, e'en thought was stayed,
I seemed inanimate. But with the morn
I woke again, my senses all refreshed,
I cannot tell you how—how can it be?
And this I know,—They crucified the Lord,
All sinless He, He gave Himself for sin,
He died, the Son of Man, the Son of God,
And for three days they sealed Him in the tomb.
But that was all, they could not hold Him there;
The Lord of Glory burst from all His bonds,
He rose again, omnipotent to save,
And now He liveth never more to die.
And by the power of His endless life,
Implanted by His Spirit now in us,
Because He liveth we shall also live,
God only knoweth how.