That night was nearing its close, and already the scents of morning were in the air. The flowers and the shrubs in the garden of Joseph of Arimathea breathed into the spring moonlight perfumes like the Song of Solomon. In the clear light of the Paschal moon, that great moon of the feast, their colours were flung into the flooding whiteness, the crimson of the lilies, the flame of the flowering thorn. The garden breathed the breath of spring and the breath of morning, as the moon dipped slowly towards the rim of the earth. She was like the great white lamp of fire that Enoch saw burning in the kingdom of the Son of Man. Already with her whiteness another whiteness was mingling, the whiteness of dawn spreading over the vault of the sky. She lay upon the rim of the earth and her beams flowed straight as a river through the trees of Joseph of Arimathea’s garden. Then the Wonder happened. In the whiteness of her beams stood a Man—very still in Joseph of Arimathea’s garden. He seemed part of the peace and tranquility of the night, and yet in his stillness flowed the festival flood of Spring—budding, joy, warmth, light and life. For a moment the moon’s rays held him, then a strange kindling flush crept into them, as they mingled with other rays—they warmed, they reddened ... and the sun came over the edge of the world and looked into the face of the moon. Between them stood the Risen Lord of both—and across the world the sun and moon gave each other the first Easter Salutation— “The Peace of the Lord be always with you!” “And with thy spirit!” So even to this time that night is watched by the moon, and we, like the disciples, do not see the Son of Man arise, but know him afterwards in the breaking of bread. In the liturgy of the Mass itself, we do not see the fraction of the Host into the chalice which shows his rising, though our attention is ceremonially called to the solemn moment when the Altar becomes both Bethlehem and Calvary. We know when he takes upon himself the veils of our humiliation, we know when his sacrifice stands lifted to the Father, but of the moment when the Altar is Joseph of Arimathea’s garden, when the broken body and the poured out blood attain the re-union which is their resurrection, we know nothing till we hear the Easter greeting—“The peace of the Lord be always with you.” It is the priest alone who looks over the Altar as on that first night the moon alone looked over the Altar of the world and saw the Sun of Righteousness arise. * * * * *