The night is past, the thunder's roar

In distance dies away;

And in the east, a gleam of light

Foretells the coming day;

And women, bearing spices sweet,

Are hast'ning on their way

Toward that tomb, so dark and deep,

Where Jesus' body lay.

"But who," these faithful women ask,

And pause upon their way,—

"When we have reached our Master's tomb,

Who'll roll the stone away?"

At last they reach the hallowed spot,—

The tomb that Joseph made,

Wherein, three days before, their loved

And loving Lord was laid.

The glory of the golden sun

Fills budding woods with light,

The morning dewdrops sparkle on

The Easter lilies white.

Sweet odor from the hyacinth

Upon the breeze is borne;

All nature now proclaims with joy,

"It is the world's first morn!"

The women stand beside the tomb

In deep surprise and fear;

For lo! the stone is rolled away—

Their Master is not there.

Impulsive Mary Magdalene

Stays not, but hastens on

That she may tell the wondrous news

To Peter and to John.

She tells them and they come with her

Unto the hallowed place,

And find it just as she has said—

Of Jesus there's no trace.

Then silently they turn and go

Each on his way—save one;

'Tis loving Mary Magdalene

Who stays and weeps alone.

She's thinking now of days when friends

Away from her all turned,

When thoughtless Mary Magdalene

By all the world was spurned.

How Jesus, in His wondrous love,

Had touched her heart within,

And led her into righteous paths

From those of vilest sin.

And as she weeps, she stoops and looks

Into the sepulcher,

And sees two angels sitting there

Who kindly say to her:

"Why weepest thou, oh, woman?"

And Magdalene replies,

"Because they've taken away my Lord;

I know not where He lies."

As Mary speaks she turns around—

Another form is there!

She thinks it is the gardener,

Who kindly says to her:

"Whom seekest thou, oh, woman?

Why stand ye weeping there?"

Says Mary, "If you've borne Him hence,

Oh, please, sir, tell me where."

The Saviour's loving heart is touched;

(For it is He who speaks—

Her loving Lord and Master, whom

So earnestly she seeks).

He draws a little closer now,

That she her Lord may know,

And answers only, "Mary,"

In accents soft and low.

She raises now her tearful eyes,

They are no longer blind;

For none but He could speak her name

So tenderly and kind.

Forgetting, in her love so blind

The cause for which He'd died,—

Forgetting all save at His feet

No harm can her betide,

With beating heart and outstretched arms

She flies her Lord to greet.

"Rabboni!" then she kneels among

The lilies at His feet.

He looks with tend'rest pity on

That face with tears still wet,

And says "You must not touch me now;

I will not leave you yet.

"But by and by I will ascend

Unto my God and thine;

Go thou and tell, when thou dost find

Those true disciples mine."

The day is spent, the lily folds

Her leaves upon her breast;

The violets close their dewy eyes

And sweetly sink to rest.

The westland crimson glory fades

From hilltop, wood, and lawn,

Night's tender dews fall softly o'er

The world's First Easter Dawn.