Passion Flowers (Watson)/The Message

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The Message.
Awake! they come, the heralds of the King; High float their banners on exultant air.Awake! their footfalls echo 'cross the plains, Glad tidings of a hope divine they bear,   A message from the King.
Around the world speed answers to the call; The hillocks green uplift them at the sound,And list'ning tombs respond with glad acclaim: For in their hearts, most sacred kept, are found   Dear tokens of the King.
Unbar thy gates, O Earth—the flowers loose; They wait within thy sepulchre below,And long to greet the morn when He arose, To tell from perfumed lips with love aglow   How tender is the King.
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In mould so pure where He has lain, they were; 'Tis hallowed, for the King did rest within;And in the heart of every flower that blows, A dim remembrance lives that it has been   Some time anear the King.
'Tis this that lends them subtle power to cheer, To glad the earth-worn pilgrim, soothe his care;Then shall we fear some day to lay us down Where He has been, the narrow bed to share,   That held the King?
I do believe, when this poor senseless clay Shall, wearied, court the rest profound and deep;In blind and voiceless, but all conscious way, It will rejoice to feel that He did sleep   Aneath the sod, our King.
I do believe, each Easter when the throng Of heaven's heralds crowd the gladsome land;When song and blossom and rejoicing hosts Of spirits freed, make harmonies so grand,   They reach the King—
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That it will chance, these bodies laid so low, May somehow feel the universal thrill;That haply in the flowers, the air, the vine, They'll conscious live, and speak—full sure they will   Themselves soon see the King.

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