The
Empty Tomb
A Mohommedan once said to a missionary:
"We have our Prophet's tomb to show,
but you have nothing."
Earth's
Meccas and the faiths of men
Hold
but a corpse within a tomb;
Each
weary pilgrim's journey ends
At
some sad shrine of grief and gloom.
Earth's
prophets rest, in silence wrapped,
Dust
in the dust from whence they came;
By
Death's chill wind their torches quenched,
No
more to kindle into flame.
Earth's
priests in solemn splendour sleep,
Ashes
to ashes, robed and stoled;
Their
chanted prayers forever hushed,
Their
altar fires forever cold.
Earth's
kings in state and glory lie,
In
crypts of porphyry encased;
Their
names and deeds, in marble carved,
Time's
blurring touch has half erased.
No
mausoleum built by man
Entombs
our Prophet, Priest and King;
Our
love no pilgrimage need make,
No
fading votive garlands bring.
No
death could kill, no gaurd could keep,
No
seal could stay, no grave could hold
Immortal
Life in mortal clay;
No
darkness could the Light enfold.
Our
Prophet's word shall come to pass,
Our
Priest is interceding still;
Our
King shall reign forevermore,
While
heaven and earth shall do his will.
"No
grave to show"? This is the stone
On
which the temples of our faith
Rise
higher than the mosques of Ind;
Our
Living Lord has counquered Death!
Annie
Johnson Flint