I, image of the Godhead, who began—­
Deeming Eternal Truth secure in nearness—­
Ye choirs, have ye begun the sweet, consoling chant,
Which, through the night of Death, the angels ministrant
Sang, God’s new Covenant repeating?

CHORUS OF WOMEN

          With spices and precious
          Balm, we arrayed him;
          Faithful and gracious,
          We tenderly laid him: 
          Linen to bind him
          Cleanlily wound we: 
          Ah! when we would find him,
          Christ no more found we!

CHORUS OF ANGELS

          Christ is ascended! 
          Bliss hath invested him,—­
          Woes that molested him,
          Trials that tested him,
          Gloriously ended!

FAUST

Why, here in dust, entice me with your spell,
Ye gentle, powerful sounds of Heaven? 
Peal rather there, where tender natures dwell. 
Your messages I hear, but faith has not been given;
The dearest child of Faith is Miracle. 
I venture not to soar to yonder regions
Whence the glad tidings hither float;
And yet, from childhood up familiar with the note,
To Life it now renews the old allegiance. 
Once Heavenly Love sent down a burning kiss
Upon my brow, in Sabbath silence holy;
And, filled with mystic presage, chimed the church-bell slowly,
And prayer dissolved me in a fervent bliss. 
A sweet, uncomprehended yearning
Drove forth my feet through woods and meadows free,
And while a thousand tears were burning,
I felt a world arise for me. 
These chants, to youth and all its sports appealing,
Proclaimed the Spring’s rejoicing holiday;
And Memory holds me now, with childish feeling,
Back from the last, the solemn way. 
Sound on, ye hymns of Heaven, so sweet and mild! 
My tears gush forth:  the Earth takes back her child!

CHORUS OF DISCIPLES

        Has He, victoriously,
        Burst from the vaulted
        Grave, and all-gloriously
        Now sits exalted? 
        Is He, in glow of birth,
        Rapture creative near? 
        Ah! to the woe of earth
        Still are we native here. 
        We, his aspiring
        Followers, Him we miss;
        Weeping, desiring,
        Master, Thy bliss!

CHORUS OF ANGELS

        Christ is arisen,
        Out of Corruption’s womb: 
        Burst ye the prison,
        Break from your gloom! 
        Praising and pleading him,
        Lovingly needing him,
        Brotherly feeding him,
        Preaching and speeding him,
        Blessing, succeeding Him,
        Thus is the Master near,—­
        Thus is He here!
[Illustration]