LONG nights she wept!

Sad days and weary weeks went by,

And life resumed its routine mournfully;

The tasks that once were easy to perform

Did seem vast mountains to the strength so worn;

And if the sun did shine, or if it not,

In shadow’s dwelt her heart; no ray, no spot

Of light or hope did penetrate the gloom—

This life seemed sadder far than death or tomb.

And still she wept!

’Till to her tear-washed eyes there came,

Like “bow of promise” after summer rain,

A vision beauteous from that “other land”—

Sleep and a “maiden” walking hand in hand.

They passed among those homes of “silent dead,”

They found “her darling’s grave,” the “name” they read,

Then, bending on her soulful, tender eyes,

The “maiden” whispered: “Did our dear Lord rise?

Then wherefore fall these teardrops from thine eyes?

If ‘Christ is risen indeed,’ then shall not we,

His ‘friends,’ his ‘heirs,’ live through eternity?

“Why should the Christians fear, who thus believe?

Why will they not the ‘Comforter’ receive?

I come each year to raise the drooping head,

To whisper to the mourner, Is Christ dead,

That you so mourn your loved? Look upward, sing!

Behold yon butterfly on gorgeous wing!

Know that this grave is but the chrysalis—

Then light, and glory, where the Saviour is;

And ‘where I am, there ye shall also be’;

‘Come, weary, heavy laden, come to me!’”

The vision fled,

But to her heart there softly came

Abiding faith in Jesus’ precious name;

A joy, that all her sorrow she could rest

Upon her Saviour’s sympathizing breast,

And, in the place of gloom and fear, was born

A perfect trust—on that fair Easter morn.