Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/393

Rh Rich spices and myrrh, To embalm Him we brought; His corpse to inter His true followers sought. In pure cerements shrined, 'Twas placed in the bier; But, alas! we now find That Christ is not here.

Christ is arisen! Speechless His love, Who to earth's prison Came from above, Trials to prove. Now is He risen!

Death's gloomy portal Now hath He rended,— Living, immortal, Heavenward ascended; Freed from His anguish, Sees He God's throne; We still must languish, Earthbound, alone. Now that He's left us, Heart-sad we pine; Why hast Thou left us. Master divine?

Christ is arisen, Death hath He slain;