Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/24

Rh So melts the young dawn at the enkindling ray, And on the crimson cloud casts off its mantle grey.

On sped the tardy seasons. Need I say What still the indignant lyre declines to tell? How, by rude hands, the maiden, borne away, Was forced amid the invaders' homes to dwell? Yet no harsh bonds the guiltless prisoner wore, No sharp constraint her gentle spirit bore, Held as a hostage in the stranger's cell; So, to her wayward fate, submissive still, She meekly bow'd her heart, to learn a Saviour's will.

And holy was the voice that taught her ear How for our sins the Lord of life was slain; While o'er the listener's bosom flow'd the tear Of wondering gratitude, like spring-tide rain. New joys burst forth, and high resolves were born To choose the narrow path that worldlings scorn, And walk therein. Oh, happy who shall gain From the brief cloud that in his path may lie A heritage sublime, a mansion in the sky.

In graceful youth, within the house of prayer, Who by the sacred font so humbly kneels, And with a tremulous yet earnest air, The deathless vow of Christian fealty seals? The Triune Name is breath'd with hallow'd power; The dew baptismal bathes the forest-flower, And, lo! her chasten'd smile that hope reveals