Explore "George Eliot" by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At evening once, the lowly men who loved / Our Master were found desolate, and grieved / For Him whose eyes had been the glory of / Their lives. He, silent, followed them, and joined / Himself unto their sorrow; with the voice / Of love that liveth past the end, and yearns / Like empty arms across the sepulchre, / Did comfort them. They heard, and knew Him not.
At eventide, O Lord, one trod for us / The solitary way of a great Soul; / Whereof the peril, pain, and debt, alone / He knows, who marked the road. / We watched, and held / Her in our arms of prayer. We wept, and said: / Our sister hath a heavy hurt. We bow, / And cry: The crown is buried with the Queen.