As sleep, to thee came Death; and when for thee
Death-slumber closed thine eyes, Death ceased to be.
Nor calm decay, nor age, nor malady,
Nor base infirmity had wasted thee;
It was the Voice of Jesus, calling thee.
Pure in Conception, that same Purity
Had vested thee with Immortality
Bought by the Blood of Jesus, who in thee
His Home Immaculate had made, which He
With every Grace had filled supernally.
The Word thy Flesh assumed; that Flesh will He
For ever wear to all eternity.
Corruption could not touch it; wherefore He
After three days arose, that He might be
The Flesh whence springeth Immortality.
His Flesh and Blood He gives, that we may be
One Flesh and Blood with His Humanity.
Would He not therefore prize thy flesh which He
Had taken for His Own substantially -
Raising it from the tomb ineffably?
Lily of Paradise, oh, fittingly
Thou in the garden-shade wert bound to die;
The Church was busy; all around would be
Her trophies and her triumphs, yet was she
Unconscious of her fairest victory.
For who, O Queen, is this awaiting thee?
Who cometh in the twilight seeking thee?
Who knocketh at thy door? No Angel He
Who opes thy tomb, though Angels sing of thee
Scattering thy bed with roses, daintily.
Lo, from the sunlit Orient cometh He,
Thy Soul's Beloved: He hath awakened thee,
And thou art risen. He hath quickened thee;
And from the desert, lo, He leadeth thee
In beauteous glorified Humanity.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote