NO legend of the far away
Whispered through ages dim;
Clear shines the sun of Easter day
Where’er we meet with Him.
Not by the silent grave alone,
But in the busy street,
We hear His tread upon the stone,
We trace those wounded feet.
Earth’s shadows pass like falling leaves:
Here is eternal Spring!
Or is it Harvest, where the sheaves
Stand golden for the King?
O Lord of Easter, on our work,
Our sorrow, or our pain;
But lay Thy hand, and through the murk,
Sunlight shall break again.
To know Thee present in our need
Is heaven here below;
Lord Jesus, by Thy life we plead,
On us Thy life bestow.
Let death, forgotten in the grave,
Die by the nails and spear;
And by Thy resurrection save
Thine own from death and fear.
Howard T. N. Ussher.