Classic Poem

O vacant Tomb!
Where is He gone, That was thy treasure?
Now is thy darkness wholly without measure
Of cureless gloom.

Nay, thou art free
For heaven's own light to enter, and suffuse thee:
Causeless the curse, with which we did abuse thee,
Since risen is He!

This the New Year!
All things arise with Him, Who once hath left thee:
Lo! thy defeat of ills hath wholly reft thee,
And heaven breaks clear!

Vacant of ills,
Home of sweet rest henceforth to hearts believing;
Stored with brave hopes, O thou, the all-receiving,
For whoso wills!