Full Not Empty Poem by Eleanor Zuercher

On Friday they buried with Him
A life which hides in death,
A joy which sinks in sorrow,
A power enmeshed in weakness,
A light adrift in darkness

When they came to the tomb
On Sunday morning it wasn't
Empty at all; it was,
Replete, full to bursting,
The grave was shattered when life,
Joy, power, and light
Erupted without stint
Or meanness into a drab,
Pain-filled, faulty world,
At last awash with colour.

A life to conquer death,
A joy to trample sorrow,
A power to com-fort weakness,
A light to confound darkness,
A love to ransom life.