"It is not Love, it is not Love," I said,
And bowed in fearful hope my trembling head.
"It is not Love, for Love could never rise
Out of the rock-hewn grave wherein he lies."
But as I spake, the heavenly form drew near
Where close I clasped a hope grown keen as fear,
Upon my head His very hand He laid
And whispered, "It is I, be not afraid!"