Classic Poem

All the sullen sorrow of the nations,
All the heavy weight of earth's decay,
Cannot crush the faith that newly quickens
In the spirit, every Easter Day.

Never lay the pall of error darklier
On men's shackled souls than now it lies,
Through the vault of this late age are echoing
All the old despairing plaints and cries.

Knowledge twists and spins with subtle fingers
Threads of gold for our immortal gain,
In the complex looms of human progress
We still weave them into webs of pain.

Yet the world persistent keeps believing
Pain has not an end in painless clay,
And we hear its hearty creed-confessing
In the hopeful hymns it sings to-day.

Death is not, but only resurrection,
Graves of all dead joys fly open wide,
Quivering souls burst free from final fetters—
This man's vision at the Easter-tide.

Cling then, brothers, to the lofty promise
Of a life superior to decay,
Uttered by the earth in Spring's awakening,
Voiced by the glad rites of Easter Day;

Go in peace, God mocks not man's believing
With mirage or fleeting phantasy,
Faith like ours is knowledge to our kindred
In those worlds where fettered minds are free.