And lilies rear their chaliced cups in churches rich and dim,

And chapel low and Minster high the same triumphant strains

In city and in village raise, and on the lonely plains.

“Life” is the strain, and “endless life” the chiming bells repeat,—

A word of victory over death, a word of promise sweet;

And as the great good clasps the less, the sun a myriad rays,

So do a hundred thoughts of joy cling round our Easter days.

And one, which seems at times the best and dearest of them all,

With the friends who died so long ago that memory seeks in vain

To call the vanished faces back, and make them live again;

And those so lately gone from us that still they seem to be

Beside our path, beside our board, in viewless company,—

A light for all our weary hours, a glory by the way,—

All, all the dead, the near, the far, take part in Easter day!

They share the life we hope to share, as once they shared in this;

They hold in fast possession our heritage of bliss.

Theirs is the sure, near Presence toward which we reach and strain;

On Easter day, on Easter day, we all are one again.

Oh, fairest of the fair, high thoughts that light the Easter dawn!

Oh, sweet and true companionship which cannot be withdrawn!

“The Lord is risen!” sealed lips repeat out of the shadows dim;

“The Lord is risen,” we answer back, “and all shall rise in him!”