Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/22

22 Strong words, whose power Can tame the sinful heart, he boldly spake, And show'd to penitence, the faith which heals The barb of anguish and the sting of death, And rooting by the lowly cross, sheds forth Such fragrance as immortal spirits breathe In cloudless climes. The Gospel's glorious hope, Its rule of purity, its eye of prayer, Its foot of firmness on temptation's steep, Its bark that fails not 'mid the storm of death, He spread before them, and with gentlest tone, Such as a brother to his sister breathes, His little sister, simple and untaught, Did urge them to the shelter of that ark Which rides the wrathful deluge. Not a breath Disturb'd the tide of eloquence. So fix'd Were that rude auditory, it would seem Almost as if a nation had become Bronz'd into statues. Now and then a sigh, The unbidden messenger of thought profound, Parted the lip; or some barbarian brow Contracted closer in a haughty frown, As scowl'd the cynick, 'mid his idol-fanes, When on Mars-Hill the inspired Apostle preach'd Jesus of Nazareth. The furrow'd soil Was soft with sorrow. So the rain of heaven Sank deeper in. What seed was sown that hour, Eternity can tell. Brief human breath Pour'd on the wind-harp of a hallow'd lip, What marvels hath it wrought! and stranger still,