Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/104

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A sacred echo stirs yon rose-deck'd wild, The hoary-headed laborer bows his knee, While from glad mother, and from lisping child Flows forth the holy song in accents free, The high orison crowns the accordant lay, Lady! for thee they pray.

To be remember'd by the sacred spire, Pointing the weary to a home of rest, By the deep organ, and the hymning choir, Cherish'd, when Earth lies heavy on the breast, Is better than with haughty state to bide, In marble's sculptur'd pride.

Lady, thy gifts were to the famish'd soul, For whose eternal weal the Saviour died; And when the wave of boundless bliss shall roll O'er the meek bosoms of the purified, When from earth's dust, the spirit's wing is free, He shall remember thee.