Classic Poem

A ROUND a Table, not a Tomb,
He willed our gathering-place to be;
When, going to prepare our home,
Our Saviour said, " Remember Me. "

We kneel around no sculptured stone,
Marking the place where Jesus lay; —
Empty the tomb, the angels gone,
The stone for ever rolled away.

Nay! sculptured stones are for the dead!
Thy three dark days of death are o'er;
Thou art the Life, our living Head,
Our living Light for evermore!

Of no fond relics, sadly dear,
Oh, Master! are Thine own possest;
The crown of thorns, the cross, the spear,
The purple robe, the seamless vest.

Nay! relics are for those who mourn
The memory of an absent friend;
Not absent Thou, nor we forlorn! —
" With you each day until the end! "

Thus round Thy Table, not Thy Tomb,
We keep Thy sacred Feast with Thee;
Until within the Father's Home
Our endless gathering-place shall be.