In the dark of early morn,

Ere the light dispelled the gloom,

Came the hearts with sorrow, torn,

Weeping, to the lonely tomb.

Brought they aromatics rare

Culled from every choicest stem,

And from gardens blooming fair,

Round thy slopes, Jerusalem.

Ah, the thoughts that filled the mind,

As they journeyed all alone;

For the Blessed Lord was kind,

And they loved Him as their own.

Glistening in the morning grey,--

Whence those garments fairer far

Than the light that hails the day

In the glorious morning star.

List! their voices, heavenly, sweet,

As the light-clad angels say,

Come, behold, in reverence meet,

Where the risen Master lay.

Hail the gladness, hail the day;

Bring no spices, bring no tears;

Death has lost its power to slay,

And the grave is reft of fears.