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THE RESURRECTION AND THE ASCENSION.

EASTER.

DEEP in yon garden-shade

The Life of all is laid

In death's calm sleep;

Armed soldiers waiting near, Amazed and full of fear,

Their vigil keep.

Angels, and stars, and the fair moon above, Look down in silent awe and reverent love.

Through the dark cypress-trees
The gentle midnight breeze
Sighs a low wail;

Breath from the dewy ground
O'er the green earth around
Spreads a soft veil;

Each glade and valley, mountain, dale, and hill,
Echoes the solemn whisper, "Peace, be still."

Hushed Nature sinks to rest,
And on her Maker's breast

She falls asleep;
Released from human woes,
The Almighty finds repose

In slumber deep;

But saints are watching through the silent night,

In eager patience waiting for the light.

The mother undefiled

Is pondering on her Child,

Now crucified;

And through her tearless dreams
The cross in radiance beams,
Whereon he died.

Bright visions dawn. Behold! the darkness

flies,

Resplendent from the grave she sees him rise.

John the Beloved stands by,
Gazing with wondering eye
At Mary's smile;
And angels at the sight,

Pause in their heavenward flight,
To muse awhile.

Yet the sun hides itself in dim eclipse,
While he awaits his full apocalypse.

Peter, who thrice denied

The Master at his side,

The Lord of all,

With penitential tears

And deep heart-searching fears,
Bewails his fall.

There, as he weeps in bitter grief apart,

His Saviour's look speaks comfort to his

heart.

The lowly Magdalene

(Of penitents the queen) Waits for the morn, When in that cave so still Her task she may fulfil

Of love forlorn;

And first to her Christ risen will appear,

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Though in a form unknown he draweth near.

While he who longed to die
With Christ on Calvary,

Whose love devout

His Master proved and tried
By heartfelt prayer denied,
Must wait in doubt;

Eight days of solemn gloom in darkness past,
On trustful Thomas he will shine at last.

But lo, the Sabbath ends!
Nocturn with matins blends,

The morning breaks;
The shadows flee away
Before the rising day,

And Christ awakes!

Angels proclaim the anthem far and near, "Ye seek your risen Lord; he is not here." GENEVIEVE M. J. IRONS.

CHRIST IS RISEN!

"Auferstanden, Auferstanden!"

CHRISTOPH CHRISTIAN STURM was born at Augsburg, Jan. 25. 1740. In 1778 he became pastor at Hamburg, and there he died, Aug. 26, 1786. His " Betrachtungen über die Werke Gottes" was published in 1785.

CHRIST is risen, Christ is risen,

He by whom we 're reconciled;
See how God from pang and prison

Has with honor crowned his Child.
Now enthroned there with the Father,
Over pain and death set high,
Reigns he in his majesty.
With your prostrate homage gather,
For he life immortal gives.
Hallelujah! Jesus lives.

He is risen, sing ye praises,

Who his blood on Calvary spilled; Shout it loud in farthest places; What he promised he fulfilled. Who withstands? And why dissemble? See him mount in glorious worth; Bright in triumph breaks he forth. See how hell's black portals tremble, As the Conqueror at them drives. Hallelujah! Jesus lives.

Us from death-doom to deliver,

Sank he in the grave's dark night;

Us to raise to life forever,

Rose he through the Father's might.
Death, thou art in victory swallowed,
All thy terrors overblown ;
All thine empire overthrown;
Life is now achieved and hallowed.
Though the Spoiler still bereaves,
Hallelujah! Jesus lives.

To the Father he ascended,

Lifting man from death's domain. Life that's in him spent and ended Tastes and sees that death is gain. Hold amidst your pain and pleasure Jesus Christ in memory,

Loosed from death's captivity. His are joys beyond all measure, Who for heavenly prizes strives. Hallelujah! Jesus lives.

Children of the great Renewer,

Joy in him with thanks and song; Bring to him, the Death-Subduer,

Crowns that to such name belong.
Praise him in the hours of trial,

Then when sin and misery threat;
Praise him in the mortal sweat;
Give his great call no denial,
Who the outcast soul receives.
Hallelujah! Jesus lives.

CHRISTOPH CHRISTIAN STURM. Translated by
NATHANIEL L. FROTHINGHAM, 1869.

EASTER DAY.

O DAY of days! shall hearts set free,
No "minstrel rapture" find for thee?
Thou art the Sun of other days,
They shine by giving back thy rays :
Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere
Thou shedd'st thy light on all the year;
Sundays by thee more glorious break,
An Easter Day in every week:

And week days, following in their train,
The fulness of thy blessing gain,
Till all, both resting and employ,
Be one Lord's day of holy joy.
Then wake, my soul, to high desires,
And earlier light thine altar fires:
The world some hours is on her way,
Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day:
Or, if she think, it is in scorn:
The vernal light of Easter morn
To her dark gaze no brighter seems
Than Reason's or the Law's pale beams.

66 Where is your Lord?" she scornful asks:
"Where is his hire? we know his tasks;
Sons of a King ye boast to be;
Let us your crowns and treasures see."
We in the words of truth reply
(An angel brought them from the sky),
"Our crown, our treasure is not here,
'T is stored above the highest sphere :
"Methinks your wisdom guides amiss,
To seek on earth a Christian's bliss;
We watch not now the lifeless stone:
Our only Lord is risen and gone."

Yet even the lifeless stone is dear
For thoughts of him who late lay here;
And the base world, now Christ hath died,
Ennobled is and glorified.

No more a charnel-house, to fence
The relics of lost innocence,
A vault of ruin and decay;
The imprisoning stone is rolled away.

'Tis now a cell where angels use
To come and go with heavenly news,
And in the ears of mourners say,
"Come, see the place where Jesus lay":

'Tis now a fane, where love can find
Christ everywhere embalmed and shrined :
Aye gathering up memorials sweet
Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

Oh, joy to Mary first allowed,
When roused from weeping o'er his shroud,
By his own calm, soul-soothing tone,
Breathing her name, as still his own!

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THE RESURRECTION AND THE ASCENSION.

Ye mourning saints, dry every tear

For your departed Lord; "Behold the place, he is not here,"

The tomb is all unbarred:

The gates of death were closed in vain,
The Lord is risen, he lives again!

Now cheerful to the house of prayer
Your early footsteps bend;
The Saviour will himself be there,
Your Advocate and Friend:
Once by the law your hopes were slain,
But now in Christ ye live again!

How tranquil now the rising day!
'Tis Jesus still appears,
A risen Lord, to chase away

Your unbelieving fears :

Oh, weep no more your comforts slain,
The Lord is risen, he lives again!

And when the shades of evening fall,
When life's last hour draws nigh,

If Jesus shine upon the soul,

How blissful then to die!

Since he has risen that once was slain, Ye die in Christ to live again!

1832

THOMAS HASTINGS.

CHRIST HATH RISEN.

The following is abridged; certain inferior stanzas being omitted from the end.

THE foe behind, the deep before,

Our hosts have dared and past the sea: And Pharaoh's warriors strew the shore, And Israel's ransomed tribes are free. Lift up, lift up your voices now! The whole wide world rejoices now! The Lord hath triumphed gloriously! The Lord shall reign victoriously! Happy morrow, Turning sorrow

Into peace and mirth!

Bondage ending.

Love descending

O'er the earth!

Seals assuring,
Guards securing,

Watch his earthly prison:
Seals are shattered,
Guards are scattered,

Christ hath risen!

No longer must the mourners weep, Nor call departed Christians dead; For death is hallowed into sleep, And every grave becomes a bed.

Now once more

Eden's door

Open stands to mortal eyes;

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For Christ hath risen, and men shall rise: Now at last,

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MICHAEL WEISS was born at Neisse, Silesia, and died in 1540. He was the German translator of the hymns of the Bohemian Brethren, but the following is one of his own compositions. His hymn-book was admired by Luther.

CHRIST the Lord is risen again,
Christ hath broken every chain ;
Hark, angelic voices cry,
Singing evermore on high,
Hallelujah !

He who gave for us his life,
Who for us endured the strife,
Is our Paschal Lamb to-day.
We, too, sing for joy, and say,
Hallelujah!

He who bore all pain and loss
Comfortless upon the cross
Lives in glory now on high,
Pleads for us and hears our cry:
Hallelujah!

He whose path no records tell,
Who descended into hell,

Who the strong man armed hath bound,
Now in the highest heaven is crowned:
Hallelujah!

He who slumbered in the grave

Is exalted now to save ;

Now through Christendom it rings
That the Lamb is King of kings:
Hallelujah!

Now he bids us tell abroad
How the lost may be restored,
How the penitent forgiven,
How we too may enter heaven :
Hallelujah!

Thou, our Paschal Lamb indeed,
Christ, thy ransomed people feed!
Take our sins and guilt away,
That we all may sing for aye,

Hallelujah!

MICHAEL WEISS, 1531. Translated by CATHERINE WINKWORTH.

JESUS, MY REDEEMER, LIVES.

"Jesus, meine Zuversicht:"

LOUISA HENRIETTA, Electress of Brandenburg, daughter of Frederic Henry, Prince of Orange, was born at The Hague, Nov. 16, 1627, and died June 18, 1667. She was married to Frederic William, Elector of Brandenburg, in 1646. This hymn was written on the death of her first-born. Her third child was afterwards Frederic I, King of Prussia.

JESUS, my Redeemer, lives,

Christ, my trust, is dead no more!
In the strength this knowledge gives,
Shall not all my fears be o'er;

Calm, though death's long night be fraught
Still with many an anxious thought?

Jesus, my Redeemer, lives,

And his life I soon shall see ;
Bright the hope this promise gives;
Where he is, I too shall be.
Shall I fear then? Can the Head
Rise and leave the members dead?
Close to him my soul is bound,

In the bonds of hope enclasped;
Faith's strong hand this hold hath found,
And the Rock hath firmly grasped.
Death shall ne'er my soul remove
From her refuge in thy love.

I shall see him with these eyes,

Him whom I shall surely know;
Not another shall I rise;

With his love my heart shall glow;
Only there shall disappear
Weakness in and round me here.

Ye who suffer, sigh, and moan,

Fresh and glorious there shall reign;
Earthly here the seed is sown,

Heavenly it shall rise again;
Natural here the death we die,
Spiritual our life on high.

Body, be thou of good cheer,

In thy Saviour's care rejoice;
Give not place to gloom and fear,

Dead, thou yet shalt know his voice,

When the final trump is heard,
And the deaf, cold grave is stirred.

Laugh to scorn, then, death and hell,
Fear no more the gloomy grave;
Caught into the air to dwell

With the Lord who comes to save,
We shall trample on our foes,
Mortal weakness, fear, and woes.

Only see ye that your heart

Rise betimes from earthly lust;
Would ye there with him have part,
Here obey your Lord and trust.
Fix your hearts beyond the skies,
Whither ye yourselves would rise!

LOUISA HENRIETTA, Electress of Brandenburg, 1653.
Translated by CATHERINE WINKWORTH, 1855-

ST. THOMAS'S SUNDAY.

Ασωμεν πάντες λαοί,

COME, ye faithful, raise the strain
Of triumphant gladness!
God hath brought his Israel
Into joy from sadness:
Loosed from Pharaoh's bitter yoke
Jacob's sons and daughters;
Led them with unmoistened foot
Through the Red Sea waters.

'Tis the spring of souls to-day:
Christ hath burst his prison;
And from three days' sleep in death,
As a sun, hath risen,
All the winter of our sins,

Long and dark, is flying
From his light, to whom we give
Laud and praise undying.

Now the queen of seasons, bright
With the day of splendor,
With the royal feast of feasts,
Comes its joy to render:
Comes to glad Jerusalem,

Who with true affection
Welcomes, in unwearied strains,
Jesu's resurrection.

Neither might the gates of death,
Nor the tomb's dark portal,
Nor the watchers, nor the seal,
Hold thee as a mortal:
But to-day amidst the twelve
Thou didst stand, bestowing
That thy peace, which evermore
Passeth human knowing.

JOHN of Damascus

Translated

by JOHN MASON NEALE.

THE RESURRECTION AND THE ASCENSION.

RESURGAM.

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ARISE, MY SOUL! AWAKE FROM SLEEP!

THOMAS KINGO, Bishop of Funen, a beloved Danish hymn-writer, was born in 1634, and died in 1703. He wrote a large number of psalms and hymns.

ARISE, my soul! awake from sleep!
Behold thy Saviour's grave!

His loved ones, mourning, laid him deep
In death's devouring cave;

But from the tomb he valiant came,
And ever blessed be his name!

A cheering sound, an angel's voice,
Proclaimeth from on high,
Our brother, Jesus, oh, rejoice!
Could not Death's captive lie;
But from the tomb he valiant came,
And ever blessed be his name!

O sacred day! sublimest day!

O mystery unheard!

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Death's hosts, that claimed him as their prey, He scattered with a word;

And from the tomb he valiant came,

And ever blessed be his name!

O holy, holy paschal morn!

We triumphed have through thee:

Thou sweetenest Christ's torture, borne
Upon the fatal tree;

For from the tomb he valiant came,
And ever blessed be his name!

I boldly now defy thee, Death!
For thou hast lost thy sting;
Defy, O Hell! thy blasting breath,
All terrors thou canst bring;
For from the tomb he valiant came,
And ever blessed be his name!

The grave is dark, the grave is cold,
And I must slumber there;
But risen, I shall Christ behold,
Christ's glories I shall share;
For from the tomb he valiant came,
And ever blessed be his name!

That I a welcome warm may win
From Jesus in the skies,

From the foul sepulchre of sin
May I as valiant rise

As from the tomb the Saviour came:
And ever blessed be his name!

Translated from the Danish of THOMAS KINGO by
GILBERT TAIT, 1868.

THE LORD OF LIFE IS RISEN! "Der Herr ist auferstanden!"

HENRY HARBAUGH, a divine of the German Reformed Church, was born in Maryland, Oct. 24, 1817, and became, after a variety of adverse experiences, Professor of Theology at Mercersburgh, Pa., where he died from overwork, Dec. 28, 1867. He wrote a number of books and poems, some of which were in the Pennsylvania German dialect.

THE Lord of life is risen!
Sing, Easter heralds, sing!
He burst his rocky prison:
Wide let the triumph ring!
Tell how the graves are quaking,
The saints their fetters breaking:
Sing, heralds! Jesus lives!

In death no longer lying,
He rose, the Prince, to-day, -
Life of the dead and dying,
He triumphed o'er decay.
The Lord of life is risen:
In ruin lies death's prison,
Its keeper bound in chains.

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