Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/39

Rh

Lord is on his holy throne,
 * He sits in kingly state;

Let those who for his favor seek,
 * In humble silence wait.

Your sorrows to his eye are known,
 * Your secret motives clear;

It needeth not the pomp of words,
 * To pour them on his ear.

Doth Death thy bosom's cell invade?
 * Yield up thy flower of grass;

Swells the world's wrathful billow high?
 * Bow down, and let it pass.

Press not thy purpose on thy God,
 * Urge not thine erring will,

Nor dictate to the Eternal mind,
 * Nor doubt thy Maker's skill.

True Prayer is not the noisy sound
 * That clamorous lips repeat,

But the deep silence of a soul
 * That clasps Jehovah's feet.