Resurrection Eve

He resteth: weep not;
The living sleep not
With so much calm.
  He hears no chiding
  And no deriding,
  Hath joy for sorrow,
  For night hath morrow,
For wounds hath balm,
For life's strange riot
Hath death and quiet.
Who would recall him
  Of those that love him?
No fears appall him,
No ills befall him;
  There's nought above him
Save turf and flowers
  And pleasant grass.
Pass the swift hours,
  How swiftly' pass!
The hours of slumber
He doth not number;
Grey hours of morning
Ere the day's dawning;
Brightened by gleams
Of the sunbeams,—
By the foreseeing
   Of resurrection,
Of glorious being,
   Of full perfection,
Of sins forgiven
   Before the face
      Of men and spirits;
Of God in heaven,
   The resting-place
      That he inherits.