Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/67

Rh  Say,—"Break oblivion's sleep
 * And toil with florist's art,

To plant the germs of virtue deep
 * In childhood's fruitful heart,

To thee, the babe is given
 * Fair from its glorious Sire,

Go, nurse it for the King of Heaven,
 * And He will pay the hire."

 

back, look back, ye gray-hair'd worshippers, Who to this hill-top, fifty years ago Came up with solemn joy; withdraw the folds Which curtaining Time hath gather'd o'er the scene, And show its coloring. The dark cloud of war Faded to fitful sun-light, on the ear, The rumor of red battle died away, And there was peace in Zion. So a throng O'er a faint carpet of the Spring's first green Were seen in glad procession hasting on, To set a watchman on these sacred walls. Each eye upon his consecrated brow Was fondly fix'd, for in its pallid hue, In its deep, thought-worn, spiritual lines, They trac'd the mission of the Crucified, The hope of Israel. High the anthem swell'd, Ascribing glory to the Lord of Hosts, Who in his bounteous goodness thus vouchsaf'd To beautify his temple. The same strain Riseth once more; but where are they who pour'd 