Chorus Of Angels.

Christ is arisen!

Mortal, all hail!
Thou, of Earth's prison

Dreary and frail,
Bursting the veil,

Proudly hast risen!

CHORUS OF WOMEN.

Rich spices and myrrh,

To embalm Him we brought;
His corpse to inter

His true followers sought.
In pure cerements shrin'd,

'Twas placed in the bier
But, alas! we now find

That Christ is not here.

CHORUS OF ANGELS.

Christ is arisen!

Speechless His love.
Who to Earth's prison

Came from above,
Trials to prove.

Now is He risen!

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Death's gloomy portal

Now hath He rended,
Living, immortal,

Heavenward ascended;
Freed from His anguish,

Sees He God's throne;
We still must languish,

Earthbound, alone.
Now that He's reft us,

Heart-sad we pine;
Why hast Thou left us,

Master divine?

CHORUS OF ANGELS.


Christ is arisen,

Death hath He slain;

Burst ye your prison,

Rend ye each chain!

Songs of praise lead ye,

Love to show, heed ye,

Hungry ones feed ye,

Preaching, on speed ye,

Coming joys plead ye,
Then is the Master near,
Then is He here!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was a German writer, poet, playwright, and natural philosopher, born on August 28, 1749, and died on March 22, 1832. He is considered one of the most important literary figures of the modern era. Goethe's best-known work, 'Faust,' is a profound exploration of human ambition, desire, and redemption. His contributions extend beyond literature into various fields, including science and politics. His writings and thoughts have had a lasting influence on Western culture.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

From The Mountain.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

With A Golden Necklace.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

Table Song.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

To The Rising Full Moon.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

English

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An Easter Hymn

Spake the Lord Christ - "I will arise."
    It seemed a saying void and vain -
    How shall a dead man rise again! -
Vain as our tears, vain as our cries.
    Not one of all the little band
    That loved Him this might understand.

"I will arise" - Lord Jesus said.
    Hearken, amid the morning dew,
    Mary, a voice that calleth you, -
Then Mary turned her golden head,
    And lo! all shining at her side
    Her Master they had crucified.

At dawn to his dim sepulchre,
    Mary, remembering that far day,
    When at his feet the spikenard lay,
Came, bringing balm and spice and myrrh;
    To her the grave had made reply:
    "He is not here - He cannot die."

Praetor and priest in vain conspire,
    Jerusalem and Rome in vain

Richard Le Gallienne

Easter Sunday, 1916

The sun shone white and fair,
This Eastertide,
Yet all its sweetness seemed but to deride
Our souls' despair;
For stricken hearts, and loss and pain,
Were everywhere.
We sang our Alleluias,--
We said, "The Christ is risen!
                From this His earthly prison,
                The Christ indeed is risen.
                He is gone up on high,
                To the perfect peace of heaven."

Then, with a sigh,
We wondered...
Our minds evolved grim hordes of huns,
Our bruised hearts sank beneath the guns,
On our very souls they thundered.
Can you wonder?--Can you wonder,
That we wondered,
As we heard the huns' guns thunder?
That we looked in one another's eyes
And wondered,--

"Is Christ indeed then risen from the ...

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

From Faust Second Part.

I.

ARIEL.

When in spring the gentle rain

Breathes into the flower new birth,
When the green and happy plain

Smiles upon the sons of earth,
Haste to give what help we may,

Little elves of wondrous might!
Whether good or evil they,

Pity for them feels the sprite.

II.
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.

WHEN the moist and balmy gale

Round the verdant meadow sighs,
Odors sweet in misty veil

At the twilight-hour arise.
Murmurings soft of calm repose

Rock the heart to child-like rest,
And the day's bright portals close

On the eyes with toil oppress'd.

Night already reigns o'er all,

Strangely star is link'd to star;
Planets mighty, sparkling small,

Glitter near...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Passion Play.

I.

Where falls the shadow of the Kofel cross
Athwart the Alpine snows, the rose of faith
Is blooming still in consecrated hearts,
And holy men another cross have hewn
Whereon the symboled Christ again shall die
To cleanse the world of sin. Within the vale
Where flows the Ammer like a trail of tears
Upon the Holy Mother's face, I see
The men and women, faithful to their vows,
Breathing the passion of Gethsemane.
I see the Saviour in Jerusalem;
I see the godless traders scourged; I see
Their wares strewn on the temple floor, their doves
Set free to wander on the roving winds;
I see Iscariot kiss the Nazarene;
I see the hate of Herod, and I hear
The multitude half-sob, half-wail, "The Cross!"
Then up the Way of Tears to Golgotha,
Crowned with...

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Easter.

When dawns on earth the Easter sun
The dear saints feel an answering thrill.
With whitest flowers their hands they fill;
And, singing all in unison,

Unto the battlements they press--
The very marge of heaven--how near!
And bend, and look upon us here
With eyes that rain down tenderness.

Their roses, brimmed with fragrant dew,
Their lilies fair they raise on high;
"Rejoice! The Lord is risen!" they cry;
"Christ is arisen; we prove it true!

"Rejoice, and dry those faithless tears
With which your Easter flowers are stained;
Share in our bliss, who have attained
The rapture of the eternal years;

"Have proved the promise which endures,
The Love that deigned, the Love that died;
Have reached our haven by His side--
Are Christ's...

Susan Coolidge

Easter Day II

So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone,
I with my secret self held communing of mine own.
So in the southern city spake the tongue
Of one that somewhat overwildly sung,
But in a later hour I sat and heard
Another voice that spake another graver word.
Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said,
Though He be dead, He is not dead.
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.

Weep not beside His tomb,
Ye women unto whom
He was great comfort and yet greater grief;
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;
Though He be dead, He is not dead,
Nor gone, though fled,
Not lost, though vanished;
Thou...

Arthur Hugh Clough