He is Risen - Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday

 

Last night did Christ the Sun rise from the dark,

The mystic harvest of the fields of God,

And now the little wandering tribes of bees

Are brawling in the scarlet flowers abroad.

The winds are soft with birdsong; all night long

Darkling the nightingale her descant told,

And now inside church doors the happy folk

The Alleluia chant a hundredfold.

O father of thy folk, be thine by right

The Easter joy, the threshold of the light.

Sedulius Scottus

(9th century Irish poet)