Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/271

Rh The unletter'd Esquimaux doth pluck The victory from the tomb, And grateful seek that glorious clime Where flowers forever bloom.

When the last tinge of green departs, The last bird takes its flight, And the far sun no beam bestows On that long polar night, When in her subterranean cell To shun the tempest's ire, Life shrinking guards her pallid flame That feebly lifts its spire,

The teachers of a love divine, That firm, devoted band, With no weak sigh of fond regret Recall their father-land, The unchanging smile that lights their brow, While storms of Winter roar, Doth better prove their heaven-born Faith Than Learning's loftiest lore.