Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/282

282  And pathless mountain tops, that rose to bar Her log-rear'd mansion from the anxious eye Of kindred and of friend. Even triflers felt How strong and beautiful is woman's love, That taking in its hand its thornless joys, The tenderest melodies of tuneful years, Yea! and its own life also,—lays them all, Meek and unblenching, on a mortal's breast Reserving nought, save that unspoken hope Which hath its root in God. Mock not with mirth, A scene like this, ye laughter-loving ones;— The licens'd jester's lip, the dancer's heel— What do they here? Joy, serious and sublime, Such as doth nerve the energies of prayer, Should swell the bosom, when a maiden's hand, Fill'd with life's dewy flow'rets, girdeth on That harness, which the ministry of Death Alone unlooseth, but whose fearful power May stamp the sentence of Eternity.

 

, wide Ceylon, your foliage fair, Your spicy fragrance freely strew; See, Ocean's threatening surge we dare, To bear salvation's gift to you. 