Poem on Easter

POEM OF VENANTIUS HONORIUS CLEMENTIANUS FORTUNATUS: On Easter.

THE SEASONS BLUSH WITH MANY COLORS IN THE BEAUTY OF SPRINGTIME: and the gate of the sky stands open with greater light. The sun, breathing fire, lifts higher on its path through heaven, going out on its course and entering the waters of the ocean. Armed with rays as it passes through the watery elements, in this short night it stretches the day in a circle. The shining sky shows its clear face, and the bright stars show their joy. The fruitful earth pours out its gifts in many kinds of growth, now that the year has rightly brought back its riches of spring. Soft beds of violets color the purple plain. The meadows grow green with plants, and each plant shines with its leaves. Little by little, the bright beauty of the flowers appears. All the herbs smile with their blossoms. After the seed is sown, grain rises far and wide in the fields, promising that it can overcome the farmer's hunger. The vine shoot, having left its stem, mourns its former joys. The vine gives only water from the source from which it usually gives wine. The swelling bud, rising with tender down from its mother's back, prepares its breast for bringing forth. After its leaves were stripped away in winter, the green grove now renews its leafy covering. Together the willow, the fir, the hazel, the osier, the elm, the maple, and the walnut—every tree rejoices, lovely in its leaves. Then the bee, about to build its comb, leaves the hive and hums over the flowers, carrying away honey on its leg. The bird that had fallen silent, dull with winter cold, returns to its song. Then Philomela tunes her notes with her own instruments, and the air grows sweeter with the echoing melody. Look, the grace of the world returning to life bears witness that all gifts have returned together with their Lord. For in honor of Christ, rising in triumph after His descent to gloomy Tartarus, the grove on every side declares its approval with its leaves, and the plants with their flowers do the same. The light, the heaven, the fields, and the sea rightly praise the God who rises above the stars after crushing the laws of hell. Look, He who was crucified now reigns as God over all things, and all created things offer prayer to their Creator. Hail, festive day, worthy to be honored throughout the world, on which God has conquered hell and gains the stars! The changes of the year and the months, the generous light of the days, the splendor of the hours—all things applaud with their voice. So, in honor of You, the wood applauds with its leaves. So the vine, with its silent shoot, gives thanks. So the thickets now ring with the whispering of birds, and among them the sparrow sings with overflowing love. O Christ, Savior of the world, merciful Creator and Redeemer, the only offspring from the Father's Godhead, flowing in an indescribable way from the heart of Your Parent, You, the self-existing Word, powerful from the mouth of Your Father, equal to Him, of one mind with Him, His companion, coeternal with the Father, from whom the world first received its beginning! You suspend the sky, You gather the earth together, You pour out the seas. By Your rule, all things fixed in their places continue to flourish. When You saw that the human race had sunk into the depth of misery, You also became man so that You might rescue man. Nor were You willing only to be born in a body, but You became flesh, which endured to be born and to die. You underwent burial rites—You, the author of life and maker of the world. You entered the path of death in order to bring the help of salvation. The dark chains of the law below gave way, and chaos feared to be pressed by the presence of light. Darkness perishes, driven away by the brightness of Christ. The thick covering of eternal night falls down. But restore the promised pledge, I pray, O gracious Power! The third day has returned. Rise, my buried One. It is not fitting for Your limbs to lie in a lowly tomb, nor for worthless stones to press down the ransom of the world. It is not right that a stone should shut in and cover Him in whose hand all things are enclosed. Take away the linen cloths, I pray. Leave the face cloths in the tomb. You are enough for us, and without You there is nothing. Free the chained shades from the prison below, and call back to the upper regions whatever has sunk to the lowest depths. Give back Your face, so that the world may see the light. Give back the day that flees from us at Your death. But when You returned, O holy conqueror, You completely filled heaven. Tartarus lies cast down and no longer keeps its rights. The ruler of the lower regions, greedily opening his hollow jaws, he who had always been a destroyer, becomes prey to You. You rescue a countless people from the prison of death, and in freedom they follow to the place where their leader goes. The savage monster, in fear, spits out the crowd he had swallowed, and the Lamb pulls the sheep from the wolf's jaws. Then, returning again from the lower regions to the tomb and taking up Your flesh again, like a warrior You carry rich trophies back to heaven. Those whom chaos held in punishment He has now restored, and those whom death might have claimed are now held by a new life. O holy King, look: a great part of Your triumph now shines out when the sacred washing blesses pure souls. A company dressed in white comes out from the shining waters and washes away their old sin in a new stream. The white garment also marks shining souls, and the shepherd finds joy in his snow-white flock. The priest Felix also is added as a sharer in this reward, for he desires to give double talents to his Lord. He draws those who wander in Gentile error to better things, so that some beast of prey may not carry them off. He guards God's flock. Those whom guilty Eve had once infected, he now restores, feeding them with rich milk at the breast of the Church. By cultivating country hearts with gentle words, Felix's goodness brings forth a crop from a briar. The Saxon, a fierce people, living almost like wild beasts—when you, O holy one, apply a remedy, the beast of prey becomes like the sheep. Since they are to remain with you through a lifetime, with a hundredfold return, you fill the barns with the produce of an abundant harvest. May this people, free from stain, be made strong in your arms, and may you carry to the stars a pure offering to God. May one crown be given to you from above, won by your own work, and may another flourish, won from your people.