The ways we carry on in this modern world
do at times perplex me
for we are not, or not especially,
mindful of the world around us.

It is charged, they say, charged with wonder,
and I suppose it must be
for this is a world where God became a man,
and died, and lived again

But every day seems a day like another,
even Easter morning
Because we do still live in the time
between the times:

Christ is risen!
    —and we still die, and mourn
        (but not without hope)—
Christ will come again!

And this is why we meet
this is why we sing
and tell each other again
the old story, as if new

So that on gray days like every other
even Easter morning
We remember, though still in the time
between the times:

Christ is risen!
    —and we will live, and dance
       (when we see our hope)—
Christ will come again!