OUR LADY'S EASTER

She knelt, expectant, through the night:
For He had promised. In her face
The pure soul beaming, full of grace,
But sorrow-tranced a frozen light.

But, ere her eastward lattice caught
The glimmer of the breaking day,
No more in that sweet garden lay
The buried picture of her thought.

The sealed stone shut a void, and lo!
The Mother and the Son had met!
For her a day should never set
Had burst upon the night of woe.

In sudden glory stood He there,
And gently raised her to His breast:
And on His heart, in perfect rest,
She poured her own a voiceless prayer.

Enough for her that He has died,
And lives, to die again no more:
The foe despoiled, the combat o'er,
The Victor crowned and glorified.

What song of seraphim shall tell
My joy today, my blissful queen?
Yet truly not in vain, I ween,
Our earthly alleluias swell.

But thou, sweet Mother, grant us more
Than here to join the festive strain:
To hymn, but never know, our gain
Were ten times loss for once before.

For so, amid the onward years,
This feat shall bring us strength renewed;
To pass secure, o'er self subdued,
To Easter in the sinless spheres.

Robert, Cyril. Our Lady's Praise in Poetry. New York: Marist Press, 1944.

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