Easter Night

    All night had shout of men and cry
                Of woeful women filled His way;
    Until that noon of sombre sky
                On Friday, clamour and display
    Smote Him; no solitude had He,
    No silence, since Gethsemane.

    Public was Death; but Power, but Might,
                But Life again, but Victory,
    Were hushed within the dead of night,
                The shutterd dark, the secrecy.
    And all alone, alone, alone
    He rose again behind the stone.

Alice Meynell

Alice Meynell was an English writer, editor, critic, and suffragist, now remembered mainly as a poet. Born on September 11, 1847, she grew up in a literary family and published her first book of poems, "Preludes," in 1875. She married the editor Wilfrid Meynell in 1877 and joined him in literary and journalistic endeavors. Meynell's worked in the women's suffrage movement, advocating for her rights through her writings. She died on November 27, 1922, leaving behind a legacy of lyrical and meditative poetry.

Alice Meynell

Why Wilt Thou Chide?

Alice Meynell, Simple Poetry

Sonnet - The Neophyte

Alice Meynell, Simple Poetry

The Lords Prayer

Alice Meynell, Simple Poetry

Sonnet - To One Poem In A Silent Time

Alice Meynell, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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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)

Easter Even

(Lyra Messianica, 1864.)


There is nothing more that they can do
    For all their rage and boast;
Caiaphas with his blaspheming crew,
    Herod with his host,

Pontius Pilate in his Judgement-hall
    Judging their Judge and his,
Or he who led them all and passed them all,
    Arch-Judas with his kiss.

The sepulchre made sure with ponderous Stone,
    Seal that same stone, O Priest;
It may be thou shalt block the holy One
    From rising in the east:

Set a watch about the sepulchre
    To watch on pain of death;
They must hold fast the stone if One should stir
    And shake it from beneath.

God Almighty, He can break a seal
    And roll away a Stone,
Can grind the proud in dust who would not kneel,
...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Good Friday Night

        At last the bird that sang so long
        In twilight circles, hushed his song:
        Above the ancient square
        The stars came here and there.

        Good Friday night! Some hearts were bowed,
        But some amid the waiting crowd
        Because of too much youth
        Felt not that mystic ruth;

        And of these hearts my heart was one:
        Nor when beneath the arch of stone
        With dirge and candle flame
        The cross of passion came,

        Did my glad spirit feel reproof,
        Though on the awful tree aloof,
        Unspiritual, dead,
        Drooped the ensanguined Head.

        To one who stood where myrtles made
        A little space of deeper shade
        (As I could half d...

William Vaughn Moody

The Tower

It was deep night, and over Jerusalem's low roofs
The moon floated, drifting through high vaporous woofs.
The moonlight crept and glistened silent, solemn, sweet,
Over dome and column, up empty, endless street;
In the closed, scented gardens the rose loosed from the stem
Her white showery petals; none regarded them;
The starry thicket breathed odours to the sentinel palm;
Silence possessed the city like a soul possessed by calm.

Not a spark in the warren under the giant night,
Save where in a turret's lantern beamed a grave, still light:
There in the topmost chamber a gold-eyed lamp was lit -
Marvellous lamp in darkness, informing, redeeming it!
For, set in that tiny chamber, Jesus, the blessed and doomed,
Spoke to the lone apostles as light to men en-tombed;
And ...

Robert Malise Bowyer Nichols

In Sleep

    I dreamt (no "dream" awake-a dream indeed)
    A wrathful man was talking in the park:
    "Where are the Higher Powers, who know our need
                        And leave us in the dark?

    "There are no Higher Powers; there is no heart
    In God, no love"-his oratory here,
    Taking the paupers and the cripples part,
                        Was broken by a tear.

    And then it seemed that One who did create
    Compassion, who alone invented pity,
    Walked, as though called, in at that north-east gate,
                        Out from the muttering city;

    Threaded the little crowd, trod the brown grass,
    Bent oer the speaker close, saw the tear rise,
    And saw Himself, as one looks in a glass,
                        In tho...

Alice Meynell

Mary Of Magdala. (Hymn)

"While it was yet dark."

Mary of Magdala, when the moon had set,
Forth to the garden that was with night dews wet,
Fared in the dark - woe-wan and bent was she,
'Neath many pounds' weight of fragrant spicery.

Mary of Magdala, in her misery,
"Who shall roll the stone up from yon door?" quoth she;
And trembling down the steep she went, and wept sore,
Because her dearest Lord was, alas! no more.

Her burden she let fall, lo! the stone was gone;
Light was there within, out to the dark it shone;
With an angel's face the dread tomb was bright,
The which she beholding fell for sore affright.

Mary of Magdala, in her misery,
Heard the white vision speak, and did straightway flee;
And an idle tale seem'd the wild words she said,
And nought ...

Jean Ingelow