Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/180



thou a Christian? Though thy cot Be rude, and poverty thy lot, A wealth is thine which earth denies, A treasure boundless as the skies; Gold and the diamond fade with shame, Before thy casket's deathless flame; Heir of high heaven! how canst thou sigh For gilded dross and vanity?

Art thou a Christian, doom'd to roam Far from thy friends and native home? O'er trackless wilds uncheer'd to go, With none to share an exile's wo? Where'er thou find'st a Father's care, Thy country and thy home are there: How canst thou, then, a stranger be, Surrounded by His family?

Art thou a Christian, mid the strife Of years mature and burden'd life? Thy heaven-born faith its shield shall spread To guard thee in the hour of dread; Thorns mid thy flinty path may spring, Dire Pain inflict its scorpion sting, But in thy soul a beacon-light Shall guide thy pilgrim steps aright, And balm from God's own fountain flow To heal the wounds of earthly wo.