Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/110

110  No incense glow'd.—Sweet Music sued in vain At that seal'd portal.—Eloquence sprang forth, From the blest teacher's lips, and in strong bands Led chain'd attention,—yet the affections lay In their dead trance.—But lowly Prayer knelt down, Breathing her meek voice into Mercy's ear, Through His dear name who bought the forfeit soul With his own blood,—Firm Faith's unearthly glance, And Hope bright-wing'd, and sainted Charity Sustain'd the thrilling cadence, while it bore The sinner to his God.—Then woke the heart, And from its trembling fountain pour'd the tear Which Penitence required and humbly sought That sabbath blessing which it else had lost.— So Prayer prevail'd, when Music child of Heaven, And hallow'd Eloquence, like sounding brass, And tinkling cymbal, smote the dreaming soul In vain.

 

Mid the trodden turf is an open grave, And a funeral train where the wild flowers wave, For a manly sleeper doth seek his bed In the narrow house of the sacred dead, And the soil hath scantily drank of the tear, For the red-brow'd few are the mourners here.

They have lower'd the prince to his resting spot, The deep prayer hath swell'd, but they heed it not, 