The golden sun climbs up the sky.
The shadows flee away.
Oh! weary heart, forget to sigh:
God sends the Easter Day!
Long was that night, chill was the air.
And grief o’er brooded long,
Yet is the new world white and fair.
Uplift thine Easter song!
The cross that bowed thee with its weight
By strength of prayer is stirred.
Till it shall bear thee soon or late,
As wings upbear the bird.
The life that thrills from star to star.
And beats in leaf and stem.
Is wider than the heavens are.
And blesses thee from them.
Wert thou cast down.wert thou dismayed.
Dear Child of One above.
Behold the earth in light arrayed;
The light of deathless love.
Oh! listen to the word that wakes
In every budding flower.
And take the bread the Master breaks,
In His triumphant hour.
For those who hear, and hearing yearn.
The King hath secrets sweet;
Their hearts within them thrill and burn,
They wait His coming feet.
Then swift the sun climbs up the sky!
The shadows flee away!
Oh! weary heart, forget to sigh,
God sends the Easter Day]
CCORDIXG to an
old tradition, when
the Roman soldiers
came to the Garden
of Gethsemane
Christ hid under the
olive trees until the
treacherous plover
cried out “Buvick!”
“Buvick!” “He is
hiding!”
But if a Judas
among the birds be
trayed the Master of
men in this hour of
need, other faithful feathered folk min
istered to him at the darker moment
of Calvary. Then it was that the
voice of the pitying turtle dove grew
so plaintive that never has it re
gained its lost happy notes. Not only
did the swallow perch on the cross and
twitter tender words of consolation,
but also in its small, sweet way al
leviated the sufferer's pain by pulling
out a spine from the crown of thorns.
And the stork flying o-er the cross
loitered on the wing to call down:
“Stryk!” “Stryk!” — “Strengthen!”
“Strengthen!"
In certain old English gardens, there
is a little spotted-leafed plant with
deep blue flowers and red buds, called
“Mary's Tears,” for in the beginning
this grew on Calvary—its flower the
blue of the Mother Mary’s eyes, the
buds red as her eyelids swollen from
weeping, and the leaves tear-stained
with her grief.
And in the old English garden, too,
is found the rosemary that puts forth
new blossoms every Friday as though
to embalm the body of the dead
Christ.
Wonderfui Passion riower.
Id the passion flower the reverent
imagination has discovered not a
cross alone, but also the pillar of
scourging, the nails, thi crown of
thorns, and even spots to mark the
five wounds of the crucified body.
The Spaniard will tell you that the
aspen trembles because that was the
wood of the cross. However this may
be, there is a delightful old legend
concerning the tree out of which the
cross was made.
Aged Adam, weary of toil and sin
and eager for death, sent to the angel
guarding the Tree of Life to beg a
boon. The messenger brought back
the welcome promise that Adam should
die in three days, and the added gift
of three small seeds which were mys
teriously to be placed under the dead
man's tongue before burial.
From these seeds, the quaint, narra
tive continues, sprang three saplings
that later united, three in one, sym
bol of the Trinity. With this mirac
ulous tree Moses and David each
wrought many wonders. But King
Solomon, his whole heart set upon the
building of the temple, had the tree
cut down, Intending it for a magnifi
cent beam. Strive as the workmen
would, however, nowhere would the
beam fit, and, cast aside, It was later
used as a bridge across a near-by
stream. When the queen of Sheba
made her notable visit she refused to
u en d is the legend lold concerning
the restless, tormented ghost of him
who could wash his hands but not his
conscience of offense.
The body of the suicide was first
cast into the Tiber, but so turbulent
were the storms that immediately fol
lowed that it was taken out of the
river, carried 1o Gaul, and thrown into
j the Rhone. Tempests were the in
| stant result. Again the body was re
j moved, this time to Lake Geneva. The
same disasters in its train. Once
| more an attempt was made to over
| come the evil. Surely, in a far-away
mountain lake locked in the center of
the Alps even the spirit of a Pilate
| could do no harm. Vain hope. There
arose storms of wind and rain so great
in fury that flocks and herds were
drowned, trees torn up by the roots,
and happy-hearted homes washed away
to death and destruction.
Quieting Troubled Spirit.
Then at the call of the emergency
came the man of the hour to answer
it. Alone he went to the lake, and
with the sole weapons of a scholar’s
knowledge and magic battled with the
spirit until it signified an agreement to
remain at peace if only it might have
one day of freedom during the year.
The storms ceased, but long after
ward whoever went to Pilate’s lake on
a Good Friday saw an awful specter
clothed in a red toga upon a rock above
the water, “the grim, ghostly figure of
him who saw no ill yet permitted it.”
tread upon tills, bridge; instead, she
knelt and worshiped, and having con
fided to Solomon a vision she had
concerning it, the king at once or
dered the sacred wood incased in gold
and silver, and reverently hung over
the door of the temple. Subsequent
ly, Abijah, son of Rehoboam, covet
ing the precious setting, had it taken
down, and after appropriating the
metal had the wood buried deep in the
earth—so deep, in fact, that a well
was dug over it, the famous Pool oi
Bethesda, the tree of mercy at the
bottom giving healing qualities to the
waters. Finally, as the time appoint
ed approached, the tree rose and float
ed on the surface, and the Jews took it
and made it into the cross upon which
the Christ was crucified.
Wood of the Cross.
As some claim the aspen was the
wood of the cross, others select the
weeping willow for the tree upon
which Judas hanged himself.
There is an old legend as sinister
as the fatalistic Dedipus myth that
claims that before the birth of Judas
his mother dreamed that her child
would murder his father and betray
his God for money. To prevent this
tragedy, the babe was put in a chest
and cast upon the sea, but was rescued
and adopted by a king.
According to tradition, Pontius Pi
late as well as Judas committed sui
cide, for upon his return to Rome so
indignant was the emperor over the
governor’s actions while in Jerusa
lem that he cast him into prison, a
humiliation too great for so weak a
spirit to bear.
Processional $ $
$ a> to Calvary
(From Stainer's Oratorio, “Crucifixion.”)
Fling wide the gates! for the Savior
waits
Co tread in Bis royal way;
Be has come from above; in his
power and love
to die cn this Passion day.
Bis cross is the sign of a love divine.
Bis crown is the thorn-wreath
of woe.
Be bears Bis load on the sorrowful
road
And bends ‘neath the burden low.
Bow sweet is the grace of Bis sacred
face
Jfnd lovely beyond compare
though weary and worn, with the
merciless scorn
Of a world Be has come to spare.
the burden of wrong that earth
bears along,
Past evil, and evil to be;
Jill sins of man since the world
began,
they have laid, dear Cord, on thee.
then on to the end, my God and my
friend,
Ulith thy banner lifted high!
thou art come from above, in thy
power and love
to endure and suffer and die!
Woman and
J the
Life Festival
TOgraiGSBeHN THE dim childhood
taSJWEXSfifOfl of the human race,
man, not woman, was
made the central fig
ure, it appears, of
much that celebrated
the triumphs of life
over death, the conquests of mankind
over the foes that beset and menaced
the highest but not the strongest of
the animals, fatherhood was honored
more than motherhood, in some parts
of the crude, young world, and the pa
triarchal head of the family quite
eclipsed his mate or mates in such dis
tinction as came from obedience to
the injunction to “be fruitful and mul
tiply and replenish the earth.”
It is different now. In this stage oi
the world’s development the festival
of . the renewing and reawakening 01
life is mainly feminine, notwithstand
ing the fact that it celebrates the res
uerrection of the Son of Man.
Women, not men, make of Easter the
great spectacle and day of rejoicing
which it has become in nearly all parts
of the Christian world. Women pre
dominate in the churches. Women
give the Easter streets their glow of
color and wealth of charm.
The world understands now, if it
did not long ago, that woman is the
high priestess of the temple of life.
She is the mother, the nurse, the
guardian angel of childhood. She is
the teacher, the comforter, the home
builder. She takes few lives and saves
many. She risks her own life that
others may live. Woman earns her
primacy in the great festival of the
year’s new birth.
In the realm of the spirit^also,
woman is the priestess of life. She is
the embodiment, in a higher degree
than man, of the hope of the race, the
buoyancy and faith of the soul, the op
timism of trust in the reign of good
and the triumph of life over death.
She has more of the resurrection
spirit than man.
It Is for this reason, quite as much
as because of woman's grace and
charm and song and laughter, that
she fits so pre-eminently the Easter
environment. She has the spirit and
mental outlook of spring. She re
sponds more sensitively and joyously
than man to the re-awakening of life
on the earth, the bursting of buds, the
unfolding of little leaves-, the quicken
ing of forest and orchard, field and
garden.
It is easier for woman to believe
than for man, easier for her to feel
and thrill to the appeal of the resur
rection. She enters more intensely
than man into the very heart and
soul of the Easter story. And the
spirit that accepts most unreservedly
and gladly Easter’s religious and his
toric meaning is the spirit which is
best attuned to the springy glory of
the world.
The difference is clearly marked
early in life. Easter is far more to the
girl than to the boy. The former, not
the latter, finds that the day appeals
to her strongly before she understands
much of its significance. The boy’s
interest is narrower, less certain, less
hearty. He is out of touch with much
that his sister feels in the Easter cere
monies and the Easter customs.
From infancy to old age, therefore,
the spring festival is distinctively a
woman’s festival. It is feminine in
outward beauty and charm. It is femi
nine, also, in the inner grace of the
heart that feels and the spirit that be
lieves in the reign of good and the un
ending triumphs of life over death,
the cradle over the grave, the new
over the old, the soul over the mortal
body
A grateful man never has to look
into his pocl-etbook to see how much
he has to be thankful for
o
ARDEAN brought his
automobile to a sud
den stop in front of
the village church,
and listened with
bated breath. Rising
_ _ high above the mel
low growl of the organ a voice floated
out to his enraptured ears—a clear,
thrilling, triumphant voice, singing
Handel’s stirring aria, “I Know That
My Redeemer Liveth.”
"Her voice, by all that is wonder
ful!” he muttered, with an eager light
in his eyes. “Surely I can’t be mis
taken. It must be the Easter lady!”
He sat there with a rapt expression
on his face until the portals of the
church swung open and the congrega
tion spilled out into the April sun
shine, bringing color and animation to
the scene. He scanned the crowd with
searching glances as it slowly melted
away. The last to leave the church
was the gray-haired rector, and walk
ing by his side as he came down the
walk was a beautiful young woman.
Valdean's heart gave a bound as he
looked at the girl. She was a dainty,
willowy creature, her face lit up with
bewitching smiles, her dark eyes
sparkling vivaciously under her white
plumed hat.
"It is she,” whispered the man in
the automobile. “I never saw her in
my life before, but I know it is she!”
The rector and his companion came
nearer. They were about to pass the
car when the girl suddenly glanced up
and stopped.
“Why, this is mv car. I believe,”
she said blithely to the rector. “I’m
to dine with Mrs. Camperdown, you
know. Good-by, Mr. Roden, and tell
Mrs. Roden I shall see her soon.”
The rector lifted his hat with a pro
found bow and walked on up the vil
lage street, while the girl turned to
Valdean with pretty assurance.
“This is the Camperdown car, is it
not?”
In an instant Valdean was standing
on the curb beside her, hat in hand.
“Of course.” he said glibly. “It is
anything you wish. That is—er— Let
mb assist you, madam. Take this for
ward seat, please, beside the driver."
The girl was on the step when she
hesitated, looked the car over doubt
fully and turned a half-frightened face
toward Valdean. Her cheeks were
flaming.
“Am I making a mistake?” she fal
tered.
“Not at all, I assure you,” he stout
ly protested.
“I am Miss Drummond, you know?”
“Certainly, madam.”
“Mrs. Camperdown wrote me that
she would have her automobile wait
ing in front of the church, but—I think
—I know she said it would be a lim
ousine.”
i 1 444 VS LA OX 11 v 40 WUt U1 VIV
morning,” lied Yahlean cheerfully, as
he gently pushed the girl into a seat
and hastily occupied the one beside
her. "So it had to be this or noth
ing. You will find it just as com
fortable, I think.”
He put the car in motion, and it
glided down the street with a soft,
purring sound.
“Now,” he added, after a pause, "if
you will kindly tell me which way I
am to go—”
"Which way?” exclaimed the girl.
“Why, direct to the Camperdown farm,
of course.”
“Yes, of course, hut—but I haven’t
the slightest idea where that is, you
see.”
The girl stared at him as if she
doubted his sanity.
“Perhaps you will be kind enough
to tell me who you are?” she de
manded, coldly.
“Richard Valdean, at your service.
My father is a well-known banker in
the city—Sylvester Valdean, by name.
Possibly you have heard of him. I
was out for a spin in my machine, and
happened tc be in front of the church,
and—and there was no other vehicle
in sight, and—and you couldn't walk,
you know—I could not let you walk—”
He choked in his eagerness, and
paused abruptly.
“I suppose I ought to be terribly in
dignant,” she said, suppressing her
merriment, "but really I cannot be oth
erwise than grateful to you for this
kindness. You are very obliging, I am
sure. Besides, the mistake was mine
in the beginning. Mrs. Camperdown
lives two miles out in the country, and
you are going in the right direction,
Mr. Valdean.” She hesitated a mo
ment, and then asked: “Were you
waiting for anybody at the church?”
"Yes, I w’as waiting for you,” he re
plied, simply.
“For me!” she exclaimed.
"I heard your voice, you know—
heard you singing (hat beautiful aria,
and I stopped to listen. 1 knew it was
the voice of the Easter lady, and I
w-as waiting there to see you come
out.”
“The Easter lady?”
“You are not wholly unknown to
me, Miss Drummond, although I con
fess I never saw you until to-day,”
said Valdean. slowly. “Last Easter I
chanced to be at St. Mark’s church in
the city, and there I heard you sing
for the first time. 1 know it was you,
for I could not be mistaken in the
voice. I did net see you. ncr was I
able to find out who you were or where
you lived, but your voice has haunted
me for a whole year. In my thoughts,
in my dreams, you have been known
to me only as the Easter lady; but
now—at last—”
He cheesed himself, and deliberate
ly began to turn the vehicle Into a
cross-road leading at right angles from
the one they were following. The girl
quickly laid a small gloved hand on
his arm.
"Xo, no!” she cried; “net that way.
“Keep straight on. Mrs. Camperdowu
lives—”
“Mrs. Camper^own can wait,” said
Valdean firmly as the car shot into
the new read at an increased rate of
speed. “I am not ready to take you
to Mrs. Cr. mperdown yet. I have
waited a whole year for this oppor
tunity; do you think I am going to
turn you ever to Mrs. Camperdown
so soon?”
Miss Drummond sank helplessly
back in her seat. He knew she was
staring fixedly at him, and he half-ex
pected an outburst of expostulation,
but he did not turn his head.
“Am I b ing kidnaped?” she asked
at last; an.l the humorous note in her
voice assured him that his bold move
was being condoned.
Valdean’s face brightened with a
quick gleam of excited pleasure.
“Then ycu will let me drive you to
town?”
“Indeed it will be a great favor to
me. I hope it is not asking too much
of you.”
“Oh, I shall he delighted. And we
can dine at the Red Eagle inn, which
is directly oil the way, and still get.
home befoie nightfall.”
The ice was broken; it was aston
ishing how quickly these young peo
ple arrived at a mutual and cordial
understand ng. By the time the Red
Eagle inn loomed up before them they
were chatting as gaily and unreserved
ly as if th< y had known each other for
O h JX\l\CLi v A,?
\\ y) ir
“Surely I Can’t Be Mistaken."
years. They dined cozily and happily
at the inn, consuming much more time
than was necessary in the perform
ance, and then taking their places in
the car once more, they resumed their
journey toward the city.
“I was sure something portentous
would happen to-day,” said Valdean,
enthusiastically, as they bowled along
the highway.
“And has anything portentous hap
pened?” asked Miss Drummond, curi
ously.
“Surely. Nothing could be more
significant than this chance meeting
between you and me.”
“But—does it portend anything?”
“To me it does. It holds a beautiful
promise. It is the fate of the Val
deans. Listen, Miss Drummond,” and
the young man became very serious.
“Easter is strangely mixed up with
the destinies of the Valdeans. My
father met my mother for the first
time on Easter day. My grandfather
and grandmother first knew of each
other’s existence on an Easter morn
ing and they were married the same
evening. It was the tricksy spirit of
that festival that brought my great
grandparents together nearly a hun
dred years ago. As far hack as the
record goes the member* of my family
have all met their affinities at Easter
time. Will you contents, Miss Drum
mond—Margaret—that our meeting
to-day has no meaning fr.tr the future?”
She gave him a quit'?, frightened
look. Then the warm <‘~lor streamed
into her face and neck and her eyes
dropped.
“Might it not mean* he continued
with desperate earnc-s’.r > ss, “that we
are both controlled by the same fate
that rules in the VaiY'an family.
Might it not mean that * >u and I—”
"Nonsense!” interrur{ed the girl,
but her voice was very h'.int and trem
ulous.
"Will you let me hat ft, Margaret?"
he whispered again.
She slowly shook h<’- head. “We
have known each othff? so short a
time,” she protested.
“We have known oft-;h other fox
five hours,” said Valderh, looking at
his watch. “What does *t matter? It
is fate. At least, tell itV that I may
hope.”
She was silent a long time; but at
last she sighed softly and lifted hoi
eyes trustfully to liis.
“Yes, I—I think you may hope—
Richard.”
Across tit* world his message rings
And, hearing it, men cease a whll*
To madly strive tor worldly things
Or cling to longings that are vile.
And, having wrought for good or ill,
Pay lo 'lng tribute to him still.
Wherever slender steeples rise.
Wherever mellow chimes are heard
The love he taught still sanctifies,
The nobler passions still are stirred'
By every friendly look and thought
We spread the message that he brought
If by to-morrow men forget
For him the anthems rise to-day;
The cross is sacred, for him, yet,
And still its shadow marks the way.
The Christian
Festival of
Easter
others.
F ALL the holidays in the
year Christmas and Easter
stand more prominently on
the page of history than any
Throughout all the mutations
and vicissitudes that have entered
into the world’s history during the
past two thousand years the two fes
tivals that commemorate respectively
the birth and the resurrection of the
Man cf Nazareth still shine with a lus
ter iiml remains uiifttdeu after the
lapse of two centuries.
The Christian festival of Easter is
not only a celebration of great an
tiquity, but many of its popular ob
servances are clearly of pagan origin.
In northern Germany the axcient Teu
tons were accustomed to celebrate the
feast of the Goddess Ostara, who was
the personification of morning, or the
east, and also of the opening year, or
spring. This custom continued to be
observed down to the beginning of the
present century. The pagan rites in
stituted by the Germans were brought
into England by the Saxons, and un
der the name of Easter the Teuton di
vinity was honored by the Anglo-Sax
ons with joy and feasting about the
same season of the year that the
Christian Easter festival arrives.
It was about the year 68 A. D. that
the formal institution of the celebra
tion of the day by Christians took
place. To the followers of the Risen
Lord the heathen season of rejoicing
at the rising of the natural sun and
the awakening of nature at the death
of winter was easily suggestive of joy
at the rising of the Son of Righteous
ness—the resurrection of Christ from
the tomb. It also followed as a natural
result that the devout adherents of
the Christ in their reverence for the
day upon which was performed the
greatest and most sublime of miracles
should continue to set it apart each
week as a day for divine worship, to
the utter exclusion of the Sabbath of
the Decalogue.
The rites and ceremonies that char
acterize the celebration of the Easter
festival, although modified somewhat
in this age, still retain many of the
features that marked it in earlier
years. In the early church the cere
monies lasted eight days. Courts of
jusuce were ciosea ana aims were ais
pensed in the churches to the poor
and needy. Popular sports, farcical
exhibitions and dancing were indulgi d
in. These latter frivolities, however,
were abolished by the reformers of the
sixteenth century. Our Anglo-Saxon
ancestors held daily services in the
churches from Palm Sunday to the be
ginfling of the Easter festival. People
saluted each other with the Easter
kiss and the words “Ex Surrexlt” (He
has risen), to which greeting the reply
“Vere Surrexit” (He is risen indeed).
The chief solemnity of the occasion
was the celebration of the Lord's sup
per.
In Russia Easter Sunday is a holi
day that exceeds all others. At mid
night of Saturday a metropolitan or
priest, preceded by a cross-bearer and
boy bearing holy water, vessels and
candles, and followed by a solemn pro
cession, issues from the church and
going round the wall sprinkles it with
holy water. He then pronounces a
benediction upon thousands of large,
round, gilded loaves, pyramids of but
ter with palms stuck in them, and
eggs in great quantities. This cere
mony signals the close of Lent, and
ushers in Easter Sunday. Joyful
voices of the faithful are heard crying
out: "Christos vor Chris” (Christ is
risen) and the response: "He is risen
indeed.” The kiss upon either cheek
is then given by all; this salute being
given and received by emperor and
serf alike.
Electric Lighted Easter Eggs.
The very newest thing in Easter
eggs Is to be seen in the toy shops
these days, consisting of an enlarged
reproduction of the ordinary hen fruit
with a tiny electric light apparatus
concealed somewhere Inside it. There
is a peep-hole at one end, and as vo»
put your eye to it you press a button.
Then the interior of the shell is flood
ed with light, showing a scene of more
I or less brilliancy and guyety.