Page:Stanzas on an Ancient Superstition (1864).djvu/14

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The priestly garb he wore; but seldom stood
 * With priestly crowd adoring sun or moon,

Or gods whose altars reeked with human blood.
 * His gentle heart the love of all had won;
 * That heart’s fierce conflict to them yet unknown,

With groans and tears he waged, as year by year
 * The bloody sacrifice he strove to shun,

Or strayed on solitary mountains, where With nature he communed, and kneeled in humble prayer.

God is where’er the human voice invokes
 * His mercy and his aid.On sea or land,

In crowd or desert drear, who upward looks
 * Seems in the midst of heaven’s fair dome to stand,
 * Which spreads in silence round on every hand,

In emblem of an all-embracing love,
 * That guards each soul, yet doth o’er all expand,

Pouring its gentle influence from above, Where’er, by day or night, thro’ the wide world we rove.

Such love he surely knew who yearning came
 * To bless the sorrowing and the helpless save.

When, visioned to my view, I sought his name,
 * His lips, responsive else, no utterance gave.
 * What paltry fame could such a spirit crave?

Let crested helm and kingly brows that wear
 * Fame’s tattered wreath, her gorgeous trappings have!

To him was given—’t was all he wished—to hear The mourner’s happy song—the sufferer’s grateful prayer.