When thy Dead Sea apples are ashes,
And the light has died out in thy home,
While the sea of thy sorrow updashes,
Whitening thy robe with its foam,
Shut out from pity or pardon.
With thy hope in thy hand lying dead —
Remember the tomb in the garden,
And the words the angel said.
Now to the rock-hewn chamber
Thou comest with spice and balm,
As the sky with its wan pale amber
Heralds the morning's calm.
A stone seals the tomb's low portal.
Too great for thy strength to move;
And thy heart tells thee all things are mortal,
And frailest of all, thy love.
But lo, the stone no longer
Closes the door's low way!
One other than thee, and stronger,
Stayed not for the break of day.
What humble friend remembers.
Now that thine all is destroyed?
Who fans thy life's chill embers?
Behold, the tomb is void!
