Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/69

Rh  There is no Winter. He, the uncounted gold Of many a year's experience richly spreads To a new generation, and methinks With high prophetic brow doth stand sublime Like Moses 'tween the living and the dead To make atonement. God's unclouded smile Sustain thee Patriarch! like a flood of light Still brightening, till with those whom thou hast taught And warn'd in wisdom and with weeping love Led to the brink of Calvary's cleansing stream, Thou strike the victor-harp o'er sin and death.

  sorrow brooded o'er the Pastor's home, The prayer was silent, and the loving group That sang their hymn of praise at even and morn Now droop'd in pain,—or with a noiseless step Tended the sick. It was a time of woe: Days measur'd out in anguish, and drear nights Mocking the eye that waited for the dawn. They, who from youth by hallow'd vows conjoin'd, Had borne life's burdens with united arm, And side by side, its adverse fortunes foil'd, Apart,—an agonizing warfare fought With Nature's stern destroyer. Tidings past From couch to couch,—how stood the doubtful strife 'Twixt life and death. They might not lay their hand Upon each other's throbbing brow,—or breathe The words of comfort, for Disease had set A gulf between them. 