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• Easter Eve
• At length the worst is o’er, and Thou art laid 
• Deep in Thy darksome bed; 
• All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone 
• Thy sacred form is gone; 
• Around those lips where power and mercy hung, 
• The dews of deaths have clung; 
• The dull earth o’er Thee, and Thy foes around, 
• Thou sleep’st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound.

• Sleep’st Thou indeed? or is Thy spirit fled, 
• At large among the dead? 
• Whether in Eden bowers Thy welcome voice 
• Wake Abraham to rejoice, 
• Or in some drearier scene Thine eye controls 
• The thronging band of souls; 
• That, as Thy blood won earth, Thine agony 
• Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free.

• Where’er Thou roam’st, one happy soul, we know, 
• Seen at Thy side in woe, 
• Waits on Thy triumphs—even as all the blest 
• With him and Thee shall rest. 
• Each on his cross; by Thee we hang a while, 
• Watching Thy patient smile, 
• Till we have learned to say, “‘Tis justly done, 
• Only in glory, LORD, Thy sinful servant own.”

• Soon wilt Thou take us to Thy tranquil bower 
• To rest one little hour, 
• Till Thine elect are numbered, and the grave 
• Call Thee to come and save: 
• Then on Thy bosom borne shall we descend 
• Again with earth to blend, 
• Earth all refined with bright supernal fires, 
• Tinctured with holy blood, and winged with pure desires.

• Meanwhile with every son and saint of Thine 
• Along the glorious line, 
• Sitting by turns beneath Thy sacred feet 
• We’ll hold communion sweet, 
• Know them by look and voice, and thank them all 
• For helping us in thrall, 
• For words of hope, and bright examples given 
• To show through moonless skies that there is light in Heaven.

• O come that day, when in this restless heart 
• Earth shall resign her part, 
• When in the grave with Thee my limbs shall rest, 
• My soul with Thee be blest! 
• But stay, presumptuous—CHRIST with Thee abides 
• In the rock’s dreary sides: 
• He from this stone will wring Celestial dew 
• If but this prisoner’s heart he faithful found and true.

• When tears are spent, and then art left alone 
• With ghosts of blessings gone, 
• Think thou art taken from the cross, and laid 
• In JESUS’ burial shade; 
• Take Moses’ rod, the rod of prayer, and call 
• Out of the rocky wall 
• The fount of holy blood; and lift on high 
• Thy grovelling soul that feels so desolate and dry.

• Prisoner of Hope thou art—look up and sing 
• In hope of promised spring. 
• As in the pit his father’s darling lay 
• Beside the desert way, 
• And knew not how, but knew his GOD would save 
• E’en from that living grave, 
• So, buried with our LORD, we’ll close our eyes 
• To the decaying world, till Angels bid us rise.

John Keble

John Keble (1792-1855) was an English poet and Anglican priest, best known as one of the founders, along with John Henry Newman (1801-1890) and Edward Pusey (1800-1882), of the Oxford Movement, which sought to reform the Anglican Church in accordance with Church tradition. Among his most important works in verse is The Christian Year, a book of poems, which includes “Easter Eve,” written as a series of meditations on the Sundays and feast days of the Anglican liturgical year. It is considered the most popular book of verse in the 19th century with 109 editions published by 1856, the year after Keble’s death. It was first published anonymously as a companion to the Book of Common Prayer, the main liturgical book of Anglicanism. The authorship of The Christian Year was revealed when Keble, in 1831, became Chair of Poetry at Oxford University, which he held until 1841. One of England’s great poets, William Wordsworth (1770-1850), held The Christian Year in high esteem and offered to even edit the book for Keble free of charge.