by Rebecca Weber

How many times, like Mary, have I looked
My Master in the face, and did not know
It was the Lord? How often have I stood
With twisted heart and tears of unchecked flow
In some new garden by His empty tomb?
O, risen Jesus, speak, and call my name
In this my grief. Then shall I know Your voice
And find, as Mary did, Your power still the same.
With hope rekindled I shall rise again
To share Your living with my fellow men.

Rebecca Weber is delighted to be a daughter of the King. She assumes her Swiss ancestors were weavers of cloth, but she is content to be a Nova Scotian weaver of words and a teacher, explorer, poet, dreamer, photographer, people person. She blogs at

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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