Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/89

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The great transition who can tell! When from the ear its seal shall part, Where countless lyres seraphic swell, And holy transport thrills the heart:

Whin the chain'd tongue, forbid to pour The broken melodies of time, Shall to the highest numbers soar Of everlasting praise sublime:

When those veil'd orbs, which ne'er might trace The features of their kindred clay, Shall scan of Deity, the face, And glow with rapture's deathless ray.

 

knelt them side by side; the hoary man Whose memory was an age, and she whose cheek Gleam'd like that velvet, which the young moss-rose Puts blushing forth, from its scarce sever'd sheath. There was the sage,—whose eye of science spans The comet in his path of fire,—and she Whose household duty was her sole delight, And highest study. On the chancel clasp'd, In meek devotion, were those bounteous hands That scatter thousands at the call of Christ, And his, whose labor wins the scanty bread For his young children. There the man of might 