Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/155

Rh And youthful forms, with gaze intensely fix'd On their beloved Pastor, as he taught Of Christ their righteousness, while here and there A group of mourning mothers from whose arms Their babes by persecution's rage were torn Blent with their listening, the low sob of grief. Close by their fathers' knees, young children cower'd, And in each echoing footstep fear'd a foe. —It was a time of trouble, and the flock Came hungering for that heavenly bread which gives Strength to the heavy-laden. 'Twas a scene That France might well have wept with tears of blood But in the madness of a dire disease She slew her faithful sons, and urg'd the sword 'Gainst her own vitals. Lo! the dawn is out, With her grey banner, and the parting flock Seek their own homes, praising the Hand that spares Their faithful Shepherd. Silent evening wakes Far different orgies. Yonder mangled form Sinking 'neath murderous fury, can ye trace Its lineaments of beauty, 'mid the wreck Of anguish and distortion? Son of God! Is this thy messenger, whose voice so late Thrill'd with an angel's sweetness, as it pour'd Thy blessing on the people? Yet, be still, And breathe no bitter thought above his dust, Who served the Prince of Peace. The spirit of love Did make that lifeless breast its temple-shrine, Offend it not. But raise with tender hand Those blood-stain'd curls, and shed the pitying tear.