In the silence of death we lost the word
and dark-shuttered days filled with empty sighs;
while, out of our sight, the walls of hell stirred
and long-abandoned eyes began to rise.
Night voices spoke no more of hope stillborn
as women heard the nightjar’s lifting song.
They walked the path unfolding in the dawn,
retracing endless years of hurt and wrong,
to One who shone with life no force could hold,
no crushing rock, no steel-armed guard could keep;
his open arms embracing hearts grown cold,
his wounded hands reviving them from sleep.
He shakes the bone-dead march of history
and, calling us by name, says ‘Rise with me’.
Shakespeare, Steven. Come Holy Gift (p. 80). Hymns Ancient & Modern.
