Mary

A Poem by
Joyce MacBeth Morehouse

She came quickly to the Garden

In the dew of early morn;

Hurrying to where they laid Him,

She knelt down to view His form.

But alas! Her Lord was missing!

And these angels? Who are they?

They stood guard in silent witness,

But the stone was rolled away.

As she stood there, weeping, stricken,

Wondering if this gardener knew.

Surely He could help her find Him;

Tell her what she ought to do;

"Can you tell me where they laid Him?

For they took my Lord, it seems."

All her hopes collapsed around her -

Broken heart and broken dreams.

As He eyed her with compassion,

Gazing in her face of fear,

His "Mary" came so gently

That was all she had to hear;

Reaching out in exultation,

Tears of joy,not sorrow, came,

For the tomb was truly empty -

Life would never be the same.

Editor's Note: Sis. Joyce is q licensed minister with the UPCI, living in Doaktown, New Brunswick, Canada - where she attends the United Pentecostal Church, (Pastor Russell H. Morehouse). Her friend, Norma Brewer, (London, Ontario) recommended Sis. Joyce to us, and spoke highly of her writing ministry. This is the first time we've presented her to our readers and are looking forward to more good things! This poem is copyrighted. Used by permission.