The rising, crashing waves of dark
Come rushing up around
The tiny island where we stand,
A scrap of battered ground.
Their brutal might tears round our feet,
A ravenous death-tide,
And everything that’s made of sand
Goes washing down the side.
Beset upon this barren rock,
A small and piteous sight,
Yet will we stand and never fear
The monstrous waves of night.
For all they thunder, thrash and rage,
And pound the stony beach,
The truest object of their hate
Is ever out of reach.
Above the waves, above the storm,
It ever shines the same,
And fills our eyes with certain light,
The blazing Easter flame.
The wind comes driving round our heads
And screaming in our ears
Of terror, pain, and emptiness—
All man’s heart hates and fears.
Its voiceless wails bid us give up
Our long and lonely stand
And go the same dark way as all
That’s only made of sand.
Though all but deafened by its blast,
Still if we heed, we hear
Another sound persistently
Pierce all the rush of fear.
‘Tis quieter, but stronger too,
And speaks of greater things,
Whose might and splendor yield naught
To all the tempest brings.
Above the wind, above the storm,
It rises clear and strong,
And fills our spirits’ inner ears,
The soaring Easter song.
O hearts that blow in brutal blasts
Or ride the roiling waves,
Come take your stand upon the rock
That still endures and saves!
Though fury of the floods and gale
May with no respite beat,
And though our tears fall bitterly,
Yet will our song be sweet.
Yes, and its sweetness will be sure,
For every storm must end,
And there is a shining sky above
Where all lights rise and blend.
And the Light of the shining sky above
Has taken on the night
And won a way for each and all
To shores with peace alight.
Above the shadows of the storm,
His glorious grace is poured,
His Presence changes everything—
The living Easter Lord!
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