Tossing on the couch of pain,
Seeking rest but all in vain,
With the dark and dreary tomb
Oft appearing through the gloom,
Weary sufferers wait their doom!
Bright and golden dreams have some:
On their airy wings they come,
Giving fancy leave to soar
To the happy scenes of yore,—
Or to some untraveled shore.
By the hearth he holds so dear,
Softly ringing in his ear
Gentle voices, faces bright
Bursting on his gladdened sight,—
Sits the wanderer to-night.
Clasping hands in holy trust
Long since mouldered into dust,—
Gazing into death-sealed eyes,
With a look of sweet surprise,
Every tear the mourner dries.
From some rugged mountain high
Making journeys through the sky,
Or in amaranthine bowers
Talking with the birds and flowers,
Poets spend the midnight hours.
Phantoms that by day elude,
Flying ever when pursued,—
Like the desert mirage bright,
Filled with joy and with delight
Dreamers fondly clasp to-night.
Oh, that morning’s early beam
Should dissolve the blissful dream!
Oh, that love and hope should fly
Like the mist in yonder sky,
When the burning sun is high!
There’s a morning yet to break,
When the sleepers shall awake
From the couch and from the grave,
From the mountain and the cave,
From beneath the ocean wave.
Then the dream of life is o’er,
Then they wake to sleep no more;
Then all earthly hopes shall fly
Like the mist in yonder sky,—
And that morning draweth nigh!
The old, the young, and the middle-aged all meet to-day
in the house of prayer. From a thousand churches
in our own and other lands the voice of praise and
thanksgiving goes up to heaven—"The Lord
is risen!" Oh glorious tidings! “The
Lord is risen indeed,” and hath appeared to
Peter! aye, and to Mary also,—the poor sinner
whose touch would have been profanation to the Pharisees
of our own times. And still more wonderful, He
hath appeared to Thomas—to Thomas the infidel,
who laughed at the story of the resurrection!
Rejoice now, O sorrowing bride, for he sleeps no longer.
Let thy glad songs of praise and adoration reach the
skies, for the Lord is not among the dead—he
is risen. “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of
Zion! shout, O daughter of Jerusalem!” for thy
Savior has burst the iron bands of death and come
forth a mighty conqueror. For thy sins he laid
himself down in the icy tomb; he rises again for thy
justification. For thy iniquities he suffered,
died and was buried: he comes forth again that
thou mayest be a sharer of his glory. He has hallowed
the dreary tomb by his own dear presence, and now
he has ascended to his Father and your Father, to
