Poems (Proctor)/Easter Morning
For works with similar titles, see Easter Morning.
EASTER MORNING.
The fasts are done; the Aves said; The moon has filled her horn;And in the solemn night I watch Before the Easter morn.So pure, so still the starry heaven, So hushed the brooding air,I could hear the sweep of an angel's wings If one should earthward fare;—Great Michael with his flaming sword,Sandalphon bearing to the Lord Some heart-cry of despair.
But since the sunset glow went out And the fitful wind grew still,No sound has stirred the waiting night, No flash lit sky or hill.Gabriel nor Uriel speeds to tell Some heavenly boon is won;To other spheres in the airy deep Their shining pathways run,And, left of angel ministries,Alone upon celestial seas Earth circles round the sun.
Yet joy is here, for woods and fields Thrill to the kiss of spring;The brooks go laughing down the glens, The birds for gladness sing;In forest dells the wind flowers wave; The earliest violets blow;And soon will come the carnival Of orchard flush and snow,When air is balm and blossoms fallAs if the blessed angels all Brought Paradise below.
Alas for April song and bloom! My eyes are dim with tearsAs I think of the dead no spring will wake Through all the circling years!With broken hearts we laid them down; We followed them with prayers;And warm and true for aye we keep Our love and trust with theirs;But silence shrouds them evermore,Nor sun, nor star, nor sea, nor shore, A pitying message bears.
O for a rift in the arching heaven! A gleam of the jasper walls!A single note of the holy hymn That ceaseless swells and falls!Their graves are cold, and they never come When the evening sun is low, Nor sit with us one happy hour In the firelight's fading glow;—And I dream till my eyes are dim with tears,And all my life o'erpowered with fears, As the night-watches go.·······Hark! 't is the west wind blowing free, Swift herald of the dawn;Faint murmurs answer from the wood; The night will soon be gone.Sad soul! shall day from darkness rise, And the rose unfold from the sod,And the bare, brown hills grow beautiful When May their slopes has trod,—While they for whom the sun shone fair,And rose and bird rejoiced the air, Sleep on, forgot of God?
Depart, drear visions of the night! We are the dead, not they!High in God's mansions of delight They greet immortal day.Look out! The sky is flushed with gold In glad, celestial warning;The cloudy bars are backward rolled, And, gloom and shadows scorning,O'er grief and death victorious,Above all glories glorious, Comes up the Easter morning!