Classic Poem

With song and sun-burst comes the Easter morn:
Yet was there sunset ere the sun arose;
Under the sod, the rain-drift and the snows,
The nurturing of life, wherefrom was born
The blossom on the breast of beauty worn?
Each way of glory through some garden goes
Where midnight yet a deeper midnight knows,
Against the halo, cross and scourge and thorn.
Will it be always so? the Easter still
Always the answer to what seemeth ill?
Or shall we some day know that all is good
If but the all, at last, be understood?
This the consummate Easter that shall be
In the full sun-burst of Eternity!

With song and sun-burst comes the Easter morn:
Yet was there sunset ere the sun arose;
Under the sod, the rain-drift and the snows,
The nurturing of life, wherefrom was born
The blossom on the breast of beauty worn?
Each way of glory through some garden goes
Where midnight yet a deeper midnight knows,
Against the halo, cross and scourge and thorn.
Will it be always so? the Easter still
Always the answer to what seemeth ill?
Or shall we some day know that all is good
If but the all, at last, be understood?
This the consummate Easter that shall be
In the full sun-burst of Eternity!