O Resurrection Morn

O re­sur­rect­ion morn

The wea­ry world is shorn

Today of all its gloom!

For truth has rolled away

The stone from fear’s ar­ray

And emp­ty is the tomb.

Now is death’s prob­lem solved

The day of days evolved

Out of its flesh­ly guise;

The Son of Right­eous­ness

Hath rent His earth­ly dress

That Christ must thus arise.

No long­er can the walls

That dream­ily en­thrall

Man’s glo­ry

hide from sight;

For One with God-like mien

(Back of the prism seen)

Hath pierced them thro’ with light.

Yet through the sha­dowy deep

Up Cal­va­ry’s roc­ky steep

His soul hath sure­ly trod;

For dead and bur­ied He

From sense of self must be

Who knows His Fa­ther—God.

O day of days com­plete

Odorous with vic­to­ries sweet

And crowned with ten­der grace!

The dia­dem of thorns

Majestically ad­orns

The well-run

pa­tient race.

O Christ

the pe­rfect Whole

Thou re­sur­rect­ed soul

The glo­ri­ous con­quest done!

Thou Truth

and Life

and Way

To im­mor­tal­ity

With God

th’eter­nal One!