Today we look at the final poem in our Holy Week Classic Poetry Series.
This poem is actually for Easter Sunday rather than Holy Saturday today. I figured that you would probably be too busy with family and Easter activities to read a poem tomorrow. So you can spend some time today exploring this piece if you like.
The title of the poem is “Easter Day.” It was written by John Keble, a British clergyman and poet of the 19th century. You may remember Keble. We looked at him and another poem he wrote entitled “Palm Sunday” last week. I don’t know about you but think that having two pieces by the same author on Palm Sunday and Holy Saturday make nice bookends for this Holy Week series.
I love how this particular piece brings in events from the Bible. It’s like reliving the Easter story in a poetic way. But I don’t want to give away too much. I’ll let you explore this final work by Keble and interpret it in your own way.
Easter Day
By Rev. John Keble
“And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them,
Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.”
—Luke 24:5-6
Oh day of days! shall hearts set free
No “minstrel rapture” find for thee?
Thou art the sun of other days,
They shine by giving back thy rays.
Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere
Thou shed’st thy light on all the year;
Sundays by thee more glorious break,
An Easter Day in every week;
And weekdays, following in their train,
The fullness of thy blessing gain,
Till all, both resting and employ,
Be one Lord’s day of holy joy.
Then wake, my soul, to high desires,
And earlier light thine altar fires;
The world some hours is on her way,
Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day;
Or if she think, it is in scorn;
The vernal light of Easter morn
To her dark gaze no brighter seems
Than Reason’s on the Law’s pale beams.
“Where is your Lord?” she scornful asks;
“Where is his hire? We know his tasks.
Sons of a King ye boast to be;
Let us your crowns and treasures see.”
We in the words of truth reply,
(An angel brought them from the sky,)
“Our crown, our treasure, is not here.
‘Tis stored above the highest sphere;
“Me thinks your wisdom guides amiss,
To seek on earth a Christian’s bliss;
We watch not now the lifeless stone;
Our only Lord is risen and gone.”
Yet even the lifeless stone is dear.
For thoughts of him who late lay here;
And the base world, now Christ has died,
Ennobled is, and glorified.
No more a charnel-house, to fence
The relics of lost innocence,
A vault of ruin and decay;
The imprisoning stone is rolled away;
‘Tis now a cell, where angels use
To come and go with heavenly news,
And in the ears of mourners say,
“Come, see the place where Jesus lay;”
‘Tis now a fane, where Love can find
Christ everywhere embalmed and shrined;
Aye gathering up memorials sweet,
Where’er she sets her duteous feet.
Oh! joy to Mary first allowed,
When roused from weeping o’er his shroud,
By his own calm, soul-soothing tone,
Breathing her name as still his own!
Joy to the faithful three renewed,
As their glad errand they pursued!
Happy, who so Christ’s word convey,
That he may meet them on their way!
So is it still to holy tears,
In lonely hours, Christ risen appears;
In social hours who Christ would see,
Must turn all tasks to Charity.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed this Holy Saturday poem as well as the other poems in this Holy Week Classic Poetry Series. I pray that you have a blessed Easter day tomorrow and every day.