Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/75

Rh  But more enduring glory
 * Shall settle on his head

Who blest Salvation's story
 * Shall o'er thy desert spread.

 

to thy master's work! for thou art sworn To do His bidding, till the hand of Death Strike off thine armour.—Not among the gaudes, And pomps and pleasures of this fleeting world Is thy vocation.—Thy deep vow denies To hoard its gold,—or truckle for its smile, Or bind its blood-stained laurel on thy brow,— —A nobler field is thine.—The soul!—The soul!— That is thy province,—that mysterious thing, Which hath no limit from the walls of sense.— No chill from hoary Time,—with pale decay No fellowship,—but shall stand forth unchang'd Unscorch'd amid the resurrection fires, To bear its boundless lot of good or ill, And thou dost take authority to aid This pilgrim-essence to a throne in Heaven Among the glorious harpers, and the ranks Of radiant seraphim and cherubim, Thy business is with that which cannot die,— Whose subtle thought the untravel'd universe Spans on swift wing, from slumbering ages sweeps Their buried treasures, scans the vault of Heaven, Weighing its orbs of light, and pointing out 