What great Apostle,
When the Christ rose,
Met with him secretly
In the garden close?
Fast ran Saint Peter,
Fast ran Saint John,
When they heard the rumour,
But the Lord was gone.
Only in the morning
He was earliest seen
By a weeping spirit,
Mary Magdalene.

Once in a glory
To my heart he came,
Born by a maiden,
With love for his name!
But what bitter passion
On myself for tree
Has his bounty suffered;
Now deep in me,
Silent, unmanifest,
Hiding his power,
During a time and times,
Waits he his hour.

High imaginations,
Wait, sad and still.
Till a sudden rumour
Your desire fulfil.
But, O blessed Magdalene,
When the first dawn
Shines across my spirit
From that garden lawn,
Watch with me, speak with me,
Blind me with tears,
When angels fall silent
And Himself appears.

Charles Williams


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