Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/17

Rh The sick man drew them as the dew of heaven Into his fever'd bosom, while the hymn That swell'd melodious o'er the open grave, Sooth'd the sad mourner 'mid his heathen woe. Young children gather'd at his beaming smile, And learn'd the name of Jesus,—pressing close To touch his garments, or to feel his hand Resting upon their heads. Such power hath love O'er sweet simplicity, ere Sin hath taught Suspicion's lesson.— By the bed of death The Teacher stood, where the grim Sachem fear'd By many tribes, found in his latest foe The first that conquer'd him. The man of might Stretch'd on his couch of skins, supinely lay, With every nerve unstrung. Around his hut, The deer's proud antler, and the wampum belt Dispos'd mid gaudy implements of war, The well-fill'd quiver, and the feathery plume, Show'd that pre-eminence which rank doth claim 'Mid penury and pain. One youthful form, A lonely daughter, last of all his flock, Tended his dying pillow, with the care Of native tenderness. The water-gourd She wept as he rejected,—and her eye Gleam'd through its tears so beautiful, that none Who gaz'd, remember'd that her cheek was dark. She was a gentle creature, and she rose Parting the raven tresses from her brow, And bowing down with reverent grace, to meet The Man of God. He mark'd the mortal strife