Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/249

Rh

dear! the hour draws nigh, The sentence speeds,—to die, to die. So long in mystic union held, So close with strong embrace compell'd, How canst thou bear the dread decree, That strikes thy clasping nerves from me? —To Him who on this mortal shore, The same encircling vestment wore, To Him I look, to Him I bend, To Him thy shuddering frame commend. —If I have ever caus'd thee pain, The throbbing breast, the burning brain, With cares and vigils turn'd thee pale, And scorn'd thee when thy strength did fail,— Forgive!—Forgive!—thy task doth cease, Friend! Lover!—let us part in peace. —That thou didst sometimes check my force, Or trifling stay mine upward course, Or lure from Heaven my wavering trust, Or bow my drooping wing to dust,— I blame thee not, the strife is done, I know thou wert the weaker one, The vase of earth, the trembling clod, Constrain'd to hold the breath of God. —Well hast thou in my service wrought, Thy brow hath mirror'd forth my thought, To wear my smile thy lip hath glow'd, Thy tear to speak my sorrows flowed, Thine ear hath borne me rich supplies Of sweetly varied melodies,