Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/213

Rh

, the day of rest. The purple morn As if baptiz'd in purer light, doth spread Its banner forth. Toil wears a cheerful smile, And Piety, in silent prayer reclines, Pondering the page inspir'd.                                           There was a Seer Who 'neath Beersheba's groves, in ancient days Dwelt as a prince. Once, toward Moriah's mount, To do a strange and fearful sacrifice, He journey'd with his son. Just where its base Sprang steeply from the valley's breast, he paus'd, And to his servants spake,—"Abide ye here, While we ascend and worship." Thus our souls Would charge the busy cares that thro' the week Held them in bondage,—"Enter not the bound Of consecration; ye are of the earth, Here rest, till we return." Thou! who didst rise O'er the seal'd sepulchre, the Roman guard Rigorous and vigilant, so grant us grace To rise, on this thy day. And when we come Down from the mount of blessing, to our paths Of daily care and duty, should we ask Imperative, our happiness from Earth, Send us that message which the angels spake To those who mournful search'd thy vacant tomb, "Not here, but risen."