Lights out! and all is dark throughout the nave;

Dim faces float like Hades’ ghosts all round,

Gazing out eagerly as from a grave

Toward a faint flicker and a subtle sound.

A voice resounding strong the stillness breaks,

And in our midst leaps up a starlike light;

The heavy night unto its splendor wakes,

Awakes from somberness to God’s delight.

For as the flame advances through our ranks,

Its glow is born afresh in all our hands;

The night turns beautiful as gladsome thanks

Rise from this Vigil, as our faith commands.

Then lights above once more break over all,

And lively bells the hour of triumph call.

So lay the weary world in thick of night,

In sin’s long shadow of mortality,

Straining its eyes toward the stupendous fight

Where Light died to flame up eternally.

A world of shades, that only dark’s reign knew,

Awoke and blinked and hailed its rising Sun,

And in His friends’ poor timid hearts there grew

A glow of joy, a fire of love, each one

Receiving these as candle flames from Him,

And passing them to whoso they could find;

So though the earth be wrapped in shadows grim,

Bright joy-flame marks the Risen Savior’s kind,

Who look on toward a day to end all night,

When dark shall flee before the conqu’ring Light.

Take then this deathless light He’s kindled here;

Receive it, all you souls who live in gloom;

Let it in all your thoughts and ways appear,

Inflame your heart, and all your world illume.

No longer can we live as men before;

Despair does not become believing hearts;

Our hymn of wond’ring gratitude must soar,

Aglow with love and finest craft of arts.

So though we still dwell on a darkened Earth,

In fairest light and trusting hope we’ll live,

Our souls the candles lit at our rebirth

With that blest fire that Jesus came to give–

Until the stand against the dark is past,

And Day to end all night breaks forth at last!

Ugly, ragged things,

Red footprints of this sin-ridden Earth,

Red and gaping eyes all weeping forth

Streams of sufferings.

Open doors to dirt,

Foul invasion of rent flesh and heart,

Corruption growing in every part,

Each unguarded hurt.

Signs of Adam’s fall,

Dragging down his children farther still,

Paining, tempting, threatening to kill,

Bitter plague to all.

Then laid senselessly

Upon flesh that could not know such stain,

Letting sacred blood-streams out to drain

Over Calvary.

Horrors lifted high,

Smears of evil making Him downtrod

Who is all glory—gore ripped from God,

Blackening the sky!

Tearing a divide

Far below that bloody, barren height,

In the curtain grim that barred the light,

Blindingly divine, from human blight—

Split now, like His side.

Floodgates to the earth,

Gashes letting streams of healing in,

Founts of anguish through which, for our sin,

Seas of peace and comfort now have been

Won—His sorrow’s worth!

Darkened soon, and dry,

Then, in darkness, brilliantly inflamed

With a fire like dawn, with something claimed

That leaves death itself to be ashamed—

Eloi Adonai!

Blazing signs, now free

From the bitter shame and ugliness,

Burning sunlike through our hopelessness,

Challenging our feeble hearts to guess

What’s past Calvary.

Here, on us, our pain,

Ugly, shameful, most bitter to bear,

Our hope too, and when we follow there,

Likening us to His splendor fair,

Who was hurt and slain.

in the same pattern as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “My Lost Youth”

Here, where in sacred silence reigns

The last King on hidden throne,

And colored glass the sunlight stains,

I hope that he may hear the pains

Of an exile all alone.

For a voice from within my heart

Is endlessly calling thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

Long, long ago I set out from the town

And the house of my first years,

Where my memories soaked through the ground

And the roots of my heart twined down and around,

And I glanced behind with tears.

And that voice like a piercing blade

Was tearing my spirit thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

As I walked a land that I knew not,

I would feel my exile keen,

And my pain of love grew deep and hot

As my thoughts rejoined each hallowed spot

Of the home where I had been.

And that voice like a wasteland wind

Was echoing bleakly thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

But the current of time poured a healing stream

On my aching, yearning heart,

And steady change like unthinking dream

Made all my world refashioned seem

And life made another start.

And that endless murmuring voice

Called now but mildly thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

In time, the life I’d newly found

Showed its beauties bright to me,

And my memories soaked into the ground,

And the roots of my heart twined down and around,

And I dwelt there happily.

And that voice sounding warm and sweet,

If I left, kept calling thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

But the current of time is never still,

Never knew a foe nor friend;

So it steals away both good and ill,

And empties where it once did fill,

So my new life had to end.

And that voice, like a mourning bell,

Was bitterly chiming thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

Once again the yawning gap of space

Spread between me and my home,

And as I left each well-known place

And turned in tears from each dear face,

I felt earth a spreading tomb.

And I heard that soft, sad voice

Like a grieved friend calling thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

Many moons would wax and wane before

I was free to heed that call.

But when I trod the old ground o’er

And saw my little land once more,

I found change come over all.

And that voice sounding pained and lost

Was persistently calling thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

O where can I go on the whole wide earth

Where that summons I may heed?

This cry that’s been with me from birth,

It grows near maddening for dearth

Of a sating for its need!

Blessed God, what shall I do?

For that voice is still calling me thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

O Thou far the mightiest, richest King,

Who hear all the crying poor,

Wilt Thy power infinite not bring

The lost one in his suffering

To a rest for spirits sore?

For so many hearts like mine

Are hearing the anguished call,

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

Now from a thin ray that falls like rain,

From a flame in crimson glass,

From a tiny image, dark and plain,

Of a figure stretched in mortal pain,

Like all men’s grief wrought in brass,

Now I seem to hear those words

From above me whispered thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

And the sculptures white that ring this hall

As around the square in Rome,

Now seem to look down, glad and tall,

As victors over sorrows all,

From their hard-won, well-loved home.

And they call their cheers to me,

Silent voices ringing thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

From these hallows into meadows green

Go I through a streaming breeze,

And the clouds all flame with glory keen,

Golden fire spread o’er the human scene,

Glowing through raindrops and trees.

And that voice like a horn of hope

Through it all is calling thus:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies; there is your peace.”

When the end of this wandering draws near,

Blessed King, o send Thy voice;

All my days for Thee I’ll labor here,

That the homeward summons I may hear

That makes weary hearts rejoice,

When that voice sounding glad at last

Shall call me for one more time:

“Child, come home, come home,

Yonder it lies;

Enter your peace.”

Staining streaks across my face,

Grief-blurred eyes to Thee I raise,

Lifting up my sickened moan

Toward Thy likeness carved in stone.

Looking up, I think I see,

In the dim light, suddenly–

Hardly dare I speak for fear–

On Thy cheek is that a tear?

Sick and sad, my soul leaves blood

Staining everywhere I’ve stood;

Silent crying for the thorn

Tearing at this heart forlorn.

Lonely, cut from human aid,

Gaze I up, worn out, afraid,

Lo! the Hand raised over me

Sheds blood more profusély.

Know’st Thou, then, a grief like mine?

What deep anguish has been Thine?

Dost Thou know the voidish night,

Hours of bitter, silent fight?

Hast Thou known the stabbing woe

Of betrayed poor hearts below?

Thou hast felt it, I can see,

For Thou now weepest with me.

When you’re round beset with losses

And your heart and flesh stripped bare,

When you look for the old comforts

But find only empty air,

When you’re driven to the limits

Of what feelings can endure,

Let your spirit hear your Savior

Saying, “Blessed are you poor.”

When you hear the world’s cruel laughter

For the love by which you live,

When you find no one who’s willing

To accept the heart you give,

When you’re crushed beneath betrayal,

Growing weary, feeling weak,

Let your spirit hear your Savior

Saying “Blessed are you meek.”

When the sight of your corruption

Tempts you to shrink back in fear,

When life strikes your tend’rest center,

Sparing not your sacred dear,

When some rare unspoken anguish

Leaves your soul deep gashes torn,

Let your spirit hear your Savior

Saying, “Blest are you who mourn.”

When you feel your life outflowing

Like the blood from piercéd side,

Let your spirit hear your Savior

Saying, “Blest you crucified!

Blest are all who suffer with Me,

For I promise you shall rise.

In My plan, the one who triumphs

Must be first the one who dies.”