Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/71

Rh

hero hath his fame,
 * 'Tis blazon'd on his tomb,

But earth withholds her glad acclaim,
 * And frowns in silent gloom:

His footsteps on her breast
 * Were like the Simoom's blast,

And Death s dark ravages attest
 * Where'er the Conqueror past.

By him her harvests sank,
 * Her famish'd flocks were slain,

And from the fount where thousands drank
 * Came gushing blood like rain;

For him no requiem-sigh
 * From vale or grove shall swell,

But flowers exulting lift their eye,
 * Where the proud spoiler fell.

Look at yon peaceful bands
 * Who guide the glittering share,

The quiet labor of whose hands
 * Doth make Earth's bosom fair,

For them the rich perfume
 * From ripen'd fields doth flow,

They bid the desert rose to bloom,
 * The wild with plenty glow.

Ah! happier thus to prize
 * The humble, rural shade,

And like our Father in the skies
 * Blest Nature's work to aid,