Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/78

78  Give thanks, my mourning dear ones,
 * Thanks to the Eternal King,

Who crowns my soul with victory
 * And plucks from Death his sting.

 

of the Dead! thy sacred beam
 * Is with me, wheresoe'er I rove,

As moonlight tints the mirror'd stream,
 * With Heaven's reflected smile of love.

I stood amid thy kindred band,
 * Explor'd thy haunts of classic thought,

And in thy treasur'd casket scann'd
 * The polish'd gems by Genius wrought;

And still, thy breath ethereal fann'd
 * In that blest home, affection's flame,

While strongly from the better land,
 * Thy pure, unearthly promptings came.

The living eye on ours may gaze,
 * The warm lip pour the wealth of mind,

Brow beam on brow congenial rays,
 * And hand in hand be firmly join'd,

But nearer, though unseen may flit
 * The hovering seraph's wing serene,

And soul to soul be closer knit
 * Even with this veil of flesh between.

