It happened on an April day, Bounded by skies so blue and still, And olive trees all hushed and gray, They led One up a skull-shaped hill Followed by a crowd whose piercing cry, Was, "Crucify!" It happened on an April morn, They nailed a Man upon a tree Whose head was circled with sharp thorn, Lifted Him high that all might see His agony, His heaving breath, His awful death. It happened on an April eve -- The air was cut by one sharp cry That wine nor gall could not relieve: "Eli . . . lama . . . Sabachthani" . . . Then lightning, thunder crack on crack, The sun was black. It happened on an April day . . . They tombed a Man (the crowd had fled) Sealed it; and set a watch that way To flout His words; to prove Him dead; And show Himself He could not save From the dark grave. It happened on an April day . . . A tremor shook the paling gloom, A white flame tore the door away, Life came victor from the tomb. Love cannot die, nor truth betray . . . Christ rose upon an April day! |