Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/105

Rh Whose kindling eye, and reverent air, Their love and gratitude declare, For him, who long with fervent tone Had made their joys and woes his own. Nor he that honest warmth restrains Meet payment for his toils and pains; Unskilled with cold or formal art To freeze the current of the heart, Or frown on even an infant's zeal The pressure of his hand to feel. As o'er the sacred desk he bends Each glance toward him confiding bends, For though in quaint or homely phrase The great salvation he displays, Yet thoughts of holy love and zeal Some touch of eloquence reveal, And changing brow, and starting tear, Bespeak that eloquence sincere.

Meanwhile, with well-uplifted heart, The old precentor bears a part; And waking loud the ancient chime, His hand high raised to beat the time, Calls forth no wild Italian trill, But childhood's accents, sweetly shrill, And quavering age, with tresses white, In one full burst of praise unite.