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The Resurrection. 
“Trust gives sweet peace to every living thing: 
The wavering robin that in space has flown 
Finds its safe nest; the germ of roses sown 
Waits, sure in darkness, for the touch of spring; 
The tendrils of the ivy blindly cling, 
Stretching their brown threads toward the wall unknown, 
To find a place secure, where, spite the moan 
Of rushing winds, they hang till soft airs sing. 
“We who love life, fear most the mystic death, 
Yet we in death the self-same life shall live,— 
This very life we know,—but glorified; 
And the fair temple which now holds our breath 
Shall simply take the glory seraphs give,— 
Renew its joys and say, ( I have not died!’” 
—Maurice Francis Egan. 
<<T|) EHOLD,” says St. Paul,* “I tell you a mystery: we shall all rise 
again, but we shall not all be changed.—In a moment, at the sound 
of the last trumpet, for the trumpet shall sound, the dead shall rise again, 
to die no more.” 
To help us to believe this mystery, God has multiplied images of the 
Resurrection before our eyes. See: every day the light disappears as if it 
were destroyed, and every day it comes back again as if it were revived. 
The plants throw away their greenness , and take it back again , as if they 
were restored to life. The seeds die in corruption, and are resuscitated in 
new germs. Every day we have within us a sensible image of our death 
and resurrection. What is sleep but an image of death, and what is awak¬ 
ing but an image of the resurrection ? 
At the beginning of the world God said, Let light be, and light was. 
This same voice, so powerful as to draw in one moment the universe from 
nothingness, shall be no less powerful to awake in one moment from their 
sleep all the generations of men, buried in the silence of the tomb.— 
*1 Cor. XV :51. 
