Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/230

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on Nature's beauty, and it came Like a blest spirit to my inmost heart, And darkness fled away. The fragrant breeze Swept o'er me, as a tale of other times, Lifting the curtain from the ancient cells Of early memory. The young vine put forth Her quivering tendrils, while the patron bough Lured their light clasping with that lore which leaves Do whisper to each other, when they lean To drink the music of the summer-shower. There was a sound of wings, and through the mesh Of her green-latticed chamber, stole the bird To cheer her callow young. The stream flowed on, And on its lake-like breast, the bending trees Did glass themselves with such serene repose, That their still haunt seemed holy. The spent sun Turned to his rest, and full his parting ray To mountain-top, and spire, and verdant grove, And burnished casement, and reposing nest, Spake benediction. And the vesper-strain Went breathing up from every plant and flower. The rose did fold itself, as at the cry From the high minaret, "to prayer! to prayer!" The Moslem kneels; and the half-sleeping eye Of the young violet, looked devoutly forth, Like the meek shepherd from his cottage door, When the clear horn doth warn the Alpine cliffs, To praise the Lord. And then the queenly Moon