Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/51

Rh And thus they died, whom blind and erring men
 * Like demi-gods have worshipp'd,—and their names

In liquid fire have flow'd from history's pen,
 * As baleful Etna o'er the concave flames.

Look to the friends of peace,—who never sought
 * The blood-stain'd laurel from its bed to tear,

But in stern toils, or bowers of studious thought
 * Still made the welfare of mankind their care.

See Howard, dauntless 'mid the dungeon-gloom,
 * Or latent poisons of a foreign sky,—

Hear Addison while sinking to the tomb,
 * Exclaim in hope, "Behold a Christian die!"

Thou too, blest Raikes,—philanthropist divine,—
 * Who all unconscious what thy hands had done,

Didst plant that germ whose glorious fruit shall shine
 * When from his throne doth fall yon darken'd sun,

The Sabbath-bell, the teacher's hallow'd lore,
 * The countless throng from childhood's snares set free,

Who in sweet strains the Sire of Heaven adore,
 * Shall point in solemn gratitude to thee.

Who was with Martyn when he breath'd his last,
 * A martyr pale on Asia's burning sod?

Who cheer'd his spirit as it onward past
 * From its frail house of clay?—The host of God.

Oh! ye who trust when earthly toils shall cease
 * To find a home in Heaven's unerring clime,

Drink deeper at the fountain-head of peace,
 * And cleanse your spirits for that world sublime.