Part 40 (1/2)

From silvering mid-sea to the Syrian sand, It was the time of blossom in the land.

On field and hill and down the steep ravine, Ran foam and fire of bloom and ripple of green.

The Sepulchre was open wide, and thrown Among the crushed, hurt lilies lay the Stone.

A light wind stirred the Garden: everywhere The smell of myrrh was out upon the air.

For three days He had traveled with the dead, And now was risen to go with stiller tread The old earth ways again, To stay the heart and build the hope of men.

He made a l.u.s.ter in that leafy place, His form serene, majestical; His face Touched with a cryptic beauty like the sea Lit by the moon when night begins to be.

The cold gray east was warming into rose Beyond the steep ravine where Kedron goes.

Now suddenly on the morning faint with flame Jerusalem with all her clamors came-- A snarl of noises from the far-off street, Dispute and barter and the clack of feet.

A moment it brawled upward and was gone-- Faded, forgotten in the deep still dawn.

He pa.s.sed across the morning: felt the cool, Keen, kindling air blown upward from the pool.

A busy wind brought little tender smells From barley fields and weeds by April wells.

Up in the tree-tops where the breezes ran The old sweet noises in the nests began; And once He paused to listen while a bird Shouted the joy till all the Garden heard.

There in the morning, on the old worn ways-- New-risen from the sacrament of death-- He looked toward Olivet with tender gaze: Old things of the heart came back from other days-- The happy, homely shop in Nazareth; The noonday shadow of a wayside tree That had befriended Him in Galilee; Sweet talks in Bethany by the chimney stone, And night-long lingering talks with John alone.

And then He thought of all the weary men He would have gathered as a mother hen Gathers her brood under her wings at night.

And then He saw the ages in one flight, And heard as a great sea All of the griefs that had been and must be....

As He stood looking on the endless sky, Over the Garden went a sobbing cry.

He turned, and saw where the tall almonds are His Mary of Magdala, wildly pale, Fast-fleeting down the trail, And suddenly His face was like a star!

He spoke; she knew--a blaze of happy tears; Then ”Master!” ... and the word rings down the years!

EDWIN MARKHAM

CONSCIENCE

Wisdom am I When thou art but a fool; My part the man, When thou hast played the clod; Hast lost thy garden?

When the eve is cool, Harken!--'tis I who walk There with thy G.o.d!

MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON

ROSA MYSTICA

This rose so exquisite, So perfect, so complete, Beauty beyond all price,-- With the hour it dies.

G.o.d makes Him roses fast, With such magnificent haste, Mult.i.tudes, mult.i.tudes, In gardens, fields and woods.

The roses tell His praise Their little length of days; Testify to His name, Gold on gold, flame on flame.

They are scarce here, scarce blown, But they are gone, are flown; The gardener's broom must sweep them And in the darkness heap them.

Drift of rose-leaves upon The garden-bed, the lawn: The exquisite thought of G.o.d Is scattered, wasted abroad.