Chorus of Women.  Spices we carried,
  Laid them upon his breast;
  Tenderly buried
  Him whom we loved the best;

  Cleanly to bind him
  Took we the fondest care,
  Ah! and we find him
  Now no more there.

Chorus of Angels.  Christ hath ascended! 
  Reign in benignity! 
  Pain and indignity,
  Scorn and malignity,
  Their work have ended.

Faust.  Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn,
Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting? 
Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn! 
Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting;
Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born. 
To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire,
Whence the sweet tidings downward float;
And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note
Calls back e’en now to life my warm desire. 
Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss
Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing! 
Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing;
A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss;
A blessed and mysterious yearning
Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies;
And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning,
I felt a world within me rise
That strain, oh, how it speaks youth’s gleesome plays and feelings,
Joys of spring-festivals long past;
Remembrance holds me now, with childhood’s fond appealings,
Back from the fatal step, the last. 
Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me! 
Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o’er me

Chorus of Disciples.  Has the grave’s lowly one
  Risen victorious? 
  Sits he, God’s Holy One,
  High-throned and glorious? 
  He, in this blest new birth,
  Rapture creative knows;[9]
  Ah! on the breast of earth
  Taste we still nature’s woes. 
  Left here to languish
  Lone in a world like this,
  Fills us with anguish
  Master, thy bliss!

Chorus of Angels.  Christ has arisen
  Out of corruption’s gloom. 
  Break from your prison,
  Burst every tomb! 
  Livingly owning him,
  Lovingly throning him,
  Feasting fraternally,
  Praying diurnally,
  Bearing his messages,
  Sharing his promises,
  Find ye your master near,
  Find ye him here![10]

     BEFORE THE GATE.

     Pedestrians of all descriptions stroll forth.

Mechanics’ Apprentices.  Where are you going to carouse?

Others.  We’re all going out to the Hunter’s House.

The First.  We’re going, ourselves, out to the Mill-House, brothers.

An Apprentice.  The Fountain-House I rather recommend.

Second.  ’Tis not a pleasant road, my friend.

The second group.  What will you do, then?

A Third.  I go with the others.

Fourth.  Come up to Burgdorf, there you’re sure to find good cheer, The handsomest of girls and best of beer, And rows, too, of the very first water.