The mists hid fair Gethsemane,
Whose olives whispered soft and low
A requiem to mortal woe,
As Easter dawned on Calvary.
Then weeping, and with senses gloomed,
Came Magdalene, with spices rare,
And ointments, to anoint with care
The body of her Lord entombed.
"But who shall roll away the stone?"
Not faith, but doubt, beset her mind,
Until with joy she came to find
That fearsome barrier was gone.
Aware of Truth's infinity,
Man's greatest Teacher burst His tomb,
As lily wakes from bud to bloom,
And said to man, "Come unto Me."
Not for a chosen few, but all—
The sick, the sinful, the distraught—
To each one held by mortal thought,
Resounds this resurrection call.
There is no death, no falsity,
That Life and Truth may not dispel;
No sin nor hate but Love may quell,
No prisoner but may be free.
The stone of sense is rolled away,
The mists of mortal thought are gone;
All error fades at Easter's dawn,
And Spirit rules eternal day.
