Classic Poem

O EASTER , queen of all the days
That wear the Church's crown,
Upon our troubled human ways
Thy calm, fair face looks down.

Thou cam'st this morning thro' the fields
And spoke some magic word,
And all the plain that harvest yields
With pulsing life was stirred;

The hyacinth and tulip gay
About thy pathway pressed,
But golden-petaled lilies lay
In triumph on thy breast;

The messenger of death stooped low
To kiss thy conquering feet,
Life, trembling, seemed at last to know
Her victory complete.

Thou camest to the sleeping town
To where the mourner lay,
And joy rose from her prison brown
And rolled the stone away.

Thou hast the healing balm to mend
The spirit hurt with fear,
It is thy gift new strength to lend
To us who languish here.

O Easter, queen of all the days
That wear the Church's crown,
Upon our troubled human ways
Forevermore look down!