Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/121



So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone, I with my secret self held communing of mine own. So in the southern city spake the tongue Of one that somewhat overwildly sung, But in a later hour I sat and heard Another voice that spake—another graver word. Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said, Though He be dead, He is not dead. In the true creed He is yet risen indeed; Christ is yet risen.

Weep not beside His tomb, Ye women unto whom He was great comfort and yet greater grief; Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam, Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home; Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief; Though He be dead, He is not dead, Nor gone, though fled, Not lost, though vanished; Though He return not, though He lies and moulders low; In the true creed He is yet risen indeed; Christ is yet risen.

Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground, Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.