All empty stands a little cradle-bed,
A mother's falling tears the only sound;
But not of earth her thoughts, nor underground;
Up-gazing she discerns the Fountain-head
Of life; the living Voice she hears that said
'Fear not' to weeping women who had found
An empty tomb, and angels watching round,
Who asked 'Why seek the living with the dead?'
So weeps our Mother Church—her tears outshine
Sun-smitten dewdrops on a summer's morn;
God's rainbow girdles her, Hope's lovely sign,
Whereby she knows that smiles of tears are born;
Fulfilled of life herself, she would assure
Her children all of death's discomfiture.