31 MARCH 1877, Page 14

POETRY.

EASTER EVE.

EARTH, what a precious burden dost thou bear,

This day and night, within thy rugged breast ! With steadier course about the sun should fare Thy footsteps, lest they break this sacred rest.

All, all is ended ; now the form so marred Lies, like a wind-worn blossom closed again, Till morn restore its beauty,—yea, but scarred, Lest our glad hearts forget too soon the pain.

Yea, lest our hearts forget or disbelieve, The prints are left in hands, and feet, and side ; So ev'n the sins those sufferings pardon leave Upon our hearts such traces as abide.

Ah ! day, delay not, as in Ajalon, To garner richer harvest in Death's store ; But speed more swiftly to that joyful sun, That sees Death spoiled, and terrible no more.

F. W. B.