It happened on an April day,

            Bounded by skies so blue and still,

And olive trees all hushed and gray,

            They led One up a skull-shaped hill

Followed by a crowd whose piercing cry

Was, “Crucify!”

It happened on an April morn,

            They nailed a Man upon a tree

Whose head was circled with sharp thorn,

            Lifted Him high that all might see

His agony, His heaving breath,

His awful death

It happened on an April eve—

            The air was cut by one sharp cry

That wine nor gall could relieve:

            “Eli…lama…Sabachthani!”…

Then lightning, thunder crack on crack,

            The sun was black.

It happened on an April day

            They tombed a Man (the crowd had fled)

Sealed it; and set a watch that way

            To flout His words; to prove Him dead;

And show Himself He could not save

From the dark grave.

It happened on an April day….

            A tremor shook the paling gloom,

A white flame tore the door away,

            Life came a victor from the tomb.

Love cannot die, nor truth betray.…

Christ rose upon an April day!  

John Richard