Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/276

276 Who never more to health and life return'd; For he who plung'd, did strait forget his God, And curse himself, and die. Amaz'd I marked Some, who profess'd Christ s name, with eager toil Forming new channels for that baleful tide, As if to irrigate the scorching land With Etna's lava. Not of the dire fount They drank themselves,—nor to their offspring gave,— The pestilential draught;—they only prest Its venom to their weaker neighbor's lip Till the red plague-spot rankled in his soul.— Still, from their household altars, morn and even, Duly arose the prayer that God would change The sinner s heart,—and turn those erring feet Whose steps take hold on hell. I saw the shroud Of pagan darkness, from the breast of earth Begin to melt away. "Who holds the lamp, Thus to illume thy midnight?"—and again She answered, "Christians!—for their master saith That like a city set upon a hill, Their light may not be hid." I look'd,—and lo! With warm, untiring zeal, they spread the wing Of strong benevolence, to bear the gift Of mercy to the heathen,—and to fill The idol-temples with Jehovah's praise. Yet some, while mov'd with purpose so sublime, Expansive and seraphic,—strangely sold A poison to their brother,—though it sent