Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/134

Rh Tell we where His blessed knees thy flinty bosom prest, When all night long his wrestling prayer went up; That I may pour my tear-wet orison Upon that sacred spot. Thou Lamb of God! Who for our sakes wert wounded unto death, Bid blinded Zion turn from Sinai's fires Her tortured foot, and from the thundering law Her terror-stricken ear rejoicing raise Unto the Gospel's music. Bring again Thy scattered people who so long have borne A fearful punishment, so long wrung out The bitter dregs of pale astonishment Into the wine-cup of the wondering earth. And oh! to us, who from our being's dawn Lisp out Salvation's lessons, yet do stray Like erring sheep, to us thy Spirit give, That we may keep thy law, and find thy fold, Ere in the desolate city of the dead We make our tenement, while Earth doth blot Our history from the record of mankind.