Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/283

Rh 

Hail! ye who long with faithful hand Have fondly till'd that favor'd soil, We come, we come, a brother-band To share the burden of your toil.

Land of our birth! we may not stay The ardor of hearts to tell, Friends of our youth! we dare not say How deep within our souls ye dwell.

But when the dead, both small and great Shall stand before the Judge's seat, When sea and sky and earthly state All like a baseless vision fleet,

The hope that then some heathen eye Thro' us, an angel's glance may raise, Bids us to vanquish nature's tie, And turn her parting tear to praise.

 

! what have ye gather'd from Afric's strand, As ye swept the breadth of that fragrant land? The breath of the spice-bud, the rich perfume Of balm and of gum and of flowret's bloom? "We have gather'd nought, save a pagan prayer, And the stifling sigh of the heart's despair." 