NO angel comes to us to tell Glad news of our beloved dead; Nor at the old familiar board, They sit among us, breaking bread. Three days we wait before the tomb, Nay, life-long years; and yet no more, For all our passionate tears, we find The stone rolled backward from the door. Yet are they risen as He is risen; For no eternal loss we grieve. Blessed are they who ask no sign, And, never having seen, believe. |