Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/136

136 Who was their guide to everlasting life, Their oracle in doubt, the friend who pour'd. The interceding prayer when death was nigh, Or the tomb open'd, for its "dust to dust." —They said she was alone. But when I turn'd To look upon her, in her breast there lay A tender blossom of mortality New-born and beautiful. Methought the babe Did bear the features of its buried sire, And at the moaning of its timid voice, Or its appealing smile, the lonely heart Rose in its brokenness, and took the joy That pays a mother's care. And so I thank'd The Father of our Mercies, who doth watch Our frames so tenderly, and prop the strength Of those he smiteth, and infuse the drops Of holy healing in the cup of grief, That none may sink beneath his keen rebuke, But walk in patience and in chastened hope On to the land which hath no need that pain Should be the teacher of its sinless host.