When darkness held dominion deep,
And stone stood guard o’er death’s repose,
A secret stirred where shadows steep;
The mighty paradox arose.
Not in the blare of trumpets loud,
But in the hush where mourners trod,
The graveclothes folded, death disavowed,
The greatest jest of the laughing God.
For what is this but worlds remade?
The Paschal mystery unfurled:
The debt of ancient Adam paid,
The hinge on which turns all the world.
They sought the dead among the living,
Found emptiness where death should reign;
A gardener stood, His presence giving
Proof that dying was not in vain.
This is no mere remembrance pale,
No dusty legend time erodes;
But present power that cannot fail,
The cornerstone of new abodes.
The Feast of feasts, Solemnity prime,
Where bread and wine bear witness true;
The sacrifice outside of time
Made manifest for me and you.
On Friday’s cross, from sin we’re freed,
In Sunday’s light, new life begins;
This twofold gift is all we need—
The Paschal victory that wins.
What madness this! What wild decree!
That God should die that man might live;
That eyes once blind are made to see
The glory heaven deigns to give.
The world spins on, both old and new,
As men seek rest in towers of stone;
But hearts find home in what is true:
The place where Christ makes all His own.
So stand amazed at break of day,
When death gives way to life’s increase;
The stone that blocked is rolled away,
And thunders forth the word of “Peace.”
In Eastertide, our joy extends
Beyond one day to fifty more;
The season starts; it never ends,
A feast that reaches shore to shore.
For we walk now in newness of life,
Adopted heirs and siblings all;
Beyond the tomb and mortal strife,
Responding to our Father’s call.
The first day of creation’s dawn
Shines brighter than the ancient sun;
The old world died; the new world born:
Heaven and history now are one.
© 2025 Matthew Chicoine
