"Who will roll back the stone?" the holy women sighed
Bearing, at dawn, anointing unguents to the tomb
Of the Beloved Master in anxious gloom
That turned to joy, for angel hand had set it wide.
He who was dead is risen--It was Eastertide--
He who had woven with mankind, in upper room,
Fabric of mystic brotherhood, which the loom
Weaves ill to-day--the master-piece all blurred by pride.
Wherefore, from Peter's Chair, comes invitation
That Christian men seek Christ as holy women sought
In bond of love, sad for the world's desolation--
To quest the tapestry of one-ness that He wrought,
Bearing the fragrant spice of charity alone,
What joy if angel hand roll back the sund'ring stone!