Puslapio vaizdai

Is He not risen, and shall we not rise?
Oh, we unwise!

What did we dream, what wake we to discover?
Ye hills, fall on us, and ye mountains, cover!
In darkness and great gloom

Come ere we thought it is our day of doom;
From the cursed world, which is one tomb,
Christ is not risen!

Eat, drink, and play, and think that this is bliss:
There is no heaven but this;

There is no hell,

Save earth, which serves the purpose doubly well, Seeing it visits still

With equalest apportionment of ill

Both good and bad alike, and brings to one same dust The unjust and the just

With Christ, who is not risen.

Eat, drink, and die, for we are souls bereaved :
Of all the creatures under heaven's wide cope
We are most hopeless, who had once most hope,
And most beliefless, that had most believed.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

As of the unjust, also of the just—
Yea, of that Just One too!

It is the one sad Gospel that is true-
Christ is not risen!

Weep not beside the tomb,

Ye women, unto whom

He was great solace while ye tended Him;
Ye who with napkin o'er the head

And folds of linen round each wounded limb
Laid out the Sacred Dead;

And thou that bar'st Him in thy wondering womb;

Yea, Daughters of Jerusalem, depart,

Bind up as best ye may your own sad bleeding heart: Go to your homes, your living children tend,

Your earthly spouses love;

Set your affections not on things above,

Which moth and rust corrupt, which quickliest come to end :

Or pray, if pray ye must, and pray, if pray ye can, For death; since dead is He whom ye deemed more than man,

Who is not risen: no

But lies and moulders low

Who is not risen!

Ye men of Galilee!

Why stand ye looking up to heaven, where Him ye ne'er may see,

Neither ascending hence, nor returning hither again? Ye ignorant and idle fishermen !

Hence to your huts, and boats, and inland native shore, And catch not men, but fish ;

Whate'er things ye might wish,

Him neither here nor there ye e'er shall meet with more. Ye poor deluded youths, go home,

Mend the old nets ye left to roam,

Tie the split oar, patch the torn sail :
It was indeed an 'idle tale'-

He was not risen!

And, oh, good men or ages yet to be,
Who shall believe because ye did not see-

Oh, be ye warned, be wise!

No more with pleading eyes,
And sobs of strong desire,

Unto the empty vacant void aspire,

Seeking another and impossible birth

That is not of your own, and only mother earth.
But if there is no other life for you,

Sit down and be content, since this must even do:
He is not risen !

One look, and then depart,

Ye humble and ye holy men of heart; And ye! ye ministers and stewards of a Word Which ye would preach, because another heardYe worshippers of that ye do not know, Take these things hence and go :

He is not risen!

Here, on our Easter Day

We rise, we come, and lo! we find Him not,
Gardener nor other, on the sacred spot:

Where they have laid Him there is none to say;

No sound, nor in, nor out-no word

Of where to seek the dead or meet the living Lord.
There is no glistering of an angel's wings,

There is no voice of heavenly clear behest :
Let us go hence, and think upon these things
In silence, which is best.

Is He not risen? No

But lies and moulders low?

Christ is not risen ?


O in the sinful street, abstracted and alone,

So in the southern city spake the tongue
Of one that somewhat overwildly sung,
But in a later hour I sat and heard

Another voice that spake-another graver word.
Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said,
Though He be dead, He is not dead.


In the true creed

He is yet risen indeed;

Christ is yet risen.

Weep not beside His tomb,

Ye women unto whom

He was great comfort and yet greater grief;

Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your


Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief; Though He be dead, He is not dead,

Nor gone, though fled,

Not lost, though vanished,

Though He return not, though

He lies and moulders low;

In the true creed

He is yet risen indeed;

Christ is yet risen.

Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground,

Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.

Whate'er befell,

Earth is not hell;

Now, too, as when it first began,

Life is yet life, and man is man.

For all that breathe beneath the heaven's high cope, Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope.

Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief:

Or at least, faith unbelief.

Though dead, not dead;

Not gone, though fled;

Not lost, though vanished.

In the great gospel and true creed,

He is yet risen indeed;

Christ is yet risen.






"ELSPIE, why should I speak it? you cannot believe it, and should not:

Why should I say that I love, which I all but said to another?

Yet should I dare, should I say, O Elspie, you only I love; you,

First and sole in my life that has been and surely that shall be;

Could-O, could you believe it, O Elspie, believe it and spurn not?

Is it possible,-possible, Elspie?

Well, she answered,

And she was silent some time, and blushed all over, and answered

Quietly, after her fashion, still knitting, Maybe, I think of it,

Though I don't know that I did: and she paused again; but it may be,

Yes, I don't know, Mr. Philip,--but only it feels to me strangely,

Like to the high new bridge, they used to build at, below there,

Over the burn and glen on the road. You won't understand me.

But I keep saying in my mind-this long time slowly with trouble

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