Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/279

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Say, from the low delights of time Thy best affections have they won? Inciting thee with zeal sublime Earth's fleeting pilgrimage to run?

If not, how vain the band to join Who toward the house of God repair, To pour the song of praise divine Or kneel in pharasaic prayer;

And ah! how vain when Death's cold hand Shall sternly reap time's ripen'd field, How worse than vain when all must stand The last, the dread account to yield.

 

of Wyoming's classic vale, By early Genius strongly mov'd, Whom lofty science bow'd to hail, And virtue from the cradle lov'd, Thou of high soul, and radiant brow Of manly beauty, where art thou?

Not near a mother's cherish'd side, Not by a sister's love carest, Nor listening to the parent-guide, Nor in fraternal converse blest, Still doth thy home the vestments wear Of Eden,—but thou art not there. 