Trembling (Lent Poems 33)
When the morning sun rose, we went
To the garden with our aloes and myrrh,
To the garden where lay our dead Lord,
To the tomb where they laid him,
With our aloes and myrrh.
As the sun glinted around the rock of the tomb,
We looked and saw no stone there before it,
We looked and saw the tomb open,
We looked at the man, dressed in white sunshine,
As the light glinted daringly into the empty tomb.
Do not be alarmed, said he, the man in white robes,
He is risen; you will not find him here;
He is not here – see the place where they laid him?
He is gone ahead of you; tell Peter and the others.
Do not look for him here. He is no longer here.
In our shaking and our trembling, we ran,
Out of the tomb, full of fear and silence,
Out of the garden where he was no longer laid,
Out of the shock and the quaking of the empty tomb,
In our shaking and trembling and running…
The Consolations of Writing 