Religion

Easter Eve

by John S. B. Monsell 1811–1875

From Spiritual Songs for the Sundays and Holydays (1861)

Religion

Lowly kneel and softly tread
Round the Saviour's Sabbath bed,
Mourn not, weep not, ' watch and pray,'
Put all restless thoughts away,
Whatsoever grief or strife
Thou hast ever known in life,
Bring it to this garden-ground,
Where His sepulchre is found.

Hath thy youth been fresh and fair,
Unobscured by cloud or care?
Have all precious things of earth,
Smiled upon thee from thy birth?
Come and watch against the day,
When these joys may pass away,
And in thine own garden-ground
Some new sepulchre be found.

Is that stain the stain of tears
That upon thy cheek appears?
Is that long and dreamy stare, —
Fix'd on that one vacant chair, —
Are those hush'd and chasten'd ways —
That going softly all thy days —
Proofs that in thy garden-ground
Some new sepulchre is found!

Come, and on Christ's Sabbath bed
Aching heart and throbbing head
Lay in meek submission down,
For heart's-ease and glorious crown
Shall for both from thence arise,
When the Living Sacrifice
Bursts the bands by which He's bound,
And makes all earth one garden-ground.

To waiting souls how purely blest
That last primal-Sabbath-rest,
Coming, as it did, between
Calvary's dark Passion-scene,
And the dawning of that day,
When every doubt would flee away,
And Sharon's bursting Pose be found,
The glory of that garden-ground.

Ere its claim on them expired,
It did all their souls required;
Shut the world's intrusions out,
Cherish'd faith, and chasten'd doubt,
Kept them from that loving deed
Christ would show He did not need,
By His grave next morning found
Empty in that garden-ground.

Time, my soul, wait in thy place,
Meekly use all means of grace,
Days of toil, or days of rest,
As God sends them, suit thee best;
Simply strive to do His will,
Keep self under, and be still,
Though thy struggling heart be found
Yearning toward some garden-ground.

The best spices to prepare
Are waiting faith, and earnest prayer;
With these, in holy rest and calm,
All thy fondest hopes embalm;
Lay them at thy Saviour's feet,
Wrap them in His winding-sheet,
And, some morning, they'll be found
Risen from that garden-ground.

✦ ✦ ✦

Text: In the garden, a new sepulchre. — John xix. 41.

MLA

Monsell, John S. B. “Easter Eve.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/monsell/32/.

Chicago

Monsell, John S. B. “Easter Eve.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/monsell/32/.

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