Littell's Living Age/Volume 133/Issue 1715/Easter Eve

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EASTER EVE.

Earth, what a precious burden dost thou bear,
 This day and night, within thy rugged breast
With steadier course about the sun should fare
 Thy footsteps, lest they break this sacred rest.

All, all is ended; now the form so marred
 Lies, like a wind-worn blossom closed again,
Till morn restore its beauty, - yea, but scarred,
 Lest our glad hearts forget too soon the pain.

Yea, lest our hearts forget or disbelieve,
 The prints are left in hands, and feet, and side;
So ev'n the sins those sufferings pardon leave
 Upon our hearts such traces as abide.

Ah! day, delay not, as in Ajalon,
 To garner richer harvest in Death's store;
But speed more swiftly to that joyful sun,
 That sees Death spoiled, and terrible no more.

Spectator.F. W. B.