And so to Tibeous, the dying thief, there came the glory of Easter.
When Jesus grew to be a man He went about teaching the people how to live. Many loved Jesus and believed what He told them. But some doubted His words, while others were unkind and even cruel. At last some wicked people believed it was unwise to let Jesus live and teach; and they hanged Him upon a cross. All His friends were very sad after they had seen Him die. They wrapped His body in linen clothes and laid Him in a tomb in a garden. A great rock was rolled in front of the tomb and soldiers were placed to guard the way day and night; for the wicked people who had killed Jesus did not wish any of His friends to take His body away.
All night and all the next day the soldiers watched at the tomb. The second night a strange and wonderful light came slowly in the east and some little birds began to sing beautiful songs. Suddenly, there was a great noise and a shaking of the ground and a beautiful angel came down from heaven, rolled the stone away from the tomb and Jesus came forth! Two beautiful angels stood at the door to meet Him and with them He walked away through the garden.
When the friends of Jesus came to the tomb early in the morning they saw a wonderful sight. “Behold,” said one, pointing to the garden near the tomb, “pure white lilies have come forth.” “And behold!” said the other, “where pure white lilies mark the footsteps of Jesus and the angels.”
There was a knight of Bethlehem; Whose wealth was tears and sorrows: His men-at-arms were little lambs, His trumpeters were sparrows; His castle was a wooden cross, Whereon He hung so high; His helmet was a crown of thorns Whose crest did touch the sky.
Deep down in the garden closes, In the wildering April weather, The embryo lilies and roses Whispered and wondered together:— “What doth it mean, this thrill And stir in the mould about us? Will it prophecies sweet fulfil, Or cometh it but to flout us?”
It may be a downward drift From that unknown world above us, Some mystical stir or lift Of beings that know and love us,— That world of wonderful things, Ineffable tints and glories, And blossoms that wander on wings—
Now, _do_ you believe those stories! That world and its wings and its glow, I fear me are only fancies Why, barely a fortnight ago, Went thither our friends, the pansies!