 | Zinzendorff, and other poems |  |
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THE JOURNEY WITH THE DEAD.
They journey 'neath the summer sky,
A lov'd and loving train,
But Nature spreads her genial charms
To lure their souls in vain,
Husband and wife and child are there,
Warm-hearted, true and kind,
Yet every kindred lip is seal'd,
And every head declin'd.
A lov'd and loving train,
But Nature spreads her genial charms
To lure their souls in vain,
Husband and wife and child are there,
Warm-hearted, true and kind,
Yet every kindred lip is seal'd,
And every head declin'd.
Weary and sad, their course is bent
To seek an ancient dome,
Where hospitality hath made
A long-remember'd home;
And one with mournful care they bring
Whose footstep erst was gay
Amid these halls; why comes she now
In sorrow's dark array?
To seek an ancient dome,
Where hospitality hath made
A long-remember'd home;
And one with mournful care they bring
Whose footstep erst was gay
Amid these halls; why comes she now
In sorrow's dark array?
Here fell a sainted grandsire's prayer
Upon her infant rest,
And with the love of ripen'd years
The cherish'd haunt was blest;
Here was the talisman that bade
Her heart's blood sparkle high,
Why steals no flush across her cheek
No lightning to her eye?
Upon her infant rest,
And with the love of ripen'd years
The cherish'd haunt was blest;
Here was the talisman that bade
Her heart's blood sparkle high,
Why steals no flush across her cheek
No lightning to her eye?
They bear her to the house of God,
But though that hallow'd spot
Is fill'd with prayer from lips she lov'd
Her voice respondeth not,
She heedeth not, she heedeth not,
She, who from early days
Had joy'd within that holy Church
To swell Jehovah's praise.
But though that hallow'd spot
Is fill'd with prayer from lips she lov'd
Her voice respondeth not,
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She, who from early days
Had joy'd within that holy Church
To swell Jehovah's praise.
Then onward toward a narrow cell
They tread the grass-grown track
From whence the unreturning guest
Doth send no tidings back;
There sleeps the grandsire high and brave
In freedom's battles tried,
With him whose banner was the cross
Of Jesus crucified.
They tread the grass-grown track
From whence the unreturning guest
Doth send no tidings back;
There sleeps the grandsire high and brave
In freedom's battles tried,
With him whose banner was the cross
Of Jesus crucified.
Down by those hoary chiefs she laid
Her young, unfrosted head,
To rise no more, until the voice
Of Jesus wakes the dead,
From her own dear, domestic bower,
From deep, confiding love,
From earth's unshaded smile, she turn'd
To purer bliss above.
Her young, unfrosted head,
To rise no more, until the voice
Of Jesus wakes the dead,
From her own dear, domestic bower,
From deep, confiding love,
From earth's unshaded smile, she turn'd
To purer bliss above.
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