Easter
Bring flowers to strew His way,
Yea, sing, make holiday;
Bid young lambs leap,
And earth laugh after sleep.
For now He cometh forth
Winter flies to the north,
Folds wings and cries
Amid the bergs and ice.
Bring no sad palms like those
That led Him to His foes,
Bring wind-flower, daffodil.
From many a vernal hill.
Let there be naught but bloom
To light Him from the tomb
Who late hath slain
Death, and his glory ta'en.
Yea, Death, great Death is dead,
And Life reigns in his stead;
Cometh the Athlete
New from dead Death's defeat.
Cometh the Wrestler,
But Death he makes no stir,
Utterly spent and done,
And all his kingdom gone.
Bring flowers, make holiday,
In His triumphal way.
Salve ye with kisses
His hurts that make your blisses.
Bring flowers, make holiday,
For His triumphal way:
Yea, fling before Him
Hearts of men that adore Him.
~~
Katharine Tynan (1861-1931)
from Poems, 1901
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]
Katharine Tynan biography
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