Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/218

218  Taught her unfettered children to repeat The name of Wilberforce, and bless the spot Made sacred by his ashes. Yea, the World Arose upon her crumbling throne, to praise The lofty mind that never knew to swerve Though holy truth should summon it to meet The frown of the embattled universe. And so I bowed me down in this far nook Of the far West, and proudly traced the name Of Wilberforce upon my country's scroll, To be her guide, as she unchained the slave, And the bright model of her sons who seek True glory. And from every village-haunt And school, where rustic Science quaintly reigns, I called the little ones, and forth they came To hear of Afric's champion, and to bless The firm in purpose and the full of days.

 

a dark procession slowly wind 'Mid funeral shades, and a lone mourner stand Fast by the yawning of the pit that whelm'd His bosom s idol. Then the sable scene Faded away, and to his alter'd home Sad Fancy follow'd him, and saw him fold His one, lone babe, in agoniz'd embrace, And kiss the brow of trusting innocence, 