 | Zinzendorff, and other poems |  |
VOICE FROM THE GRAVE OF A SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER.
Yes, this is holy ground,
Lay me to slumber here.
The cherish'd thoughts of early days,
Have made this spot most dear,—
Fast by the hallow'd church
Where first I learned to pray
In faith, and penitence and peace,—
Make ye my bed of clay.
Lay me to slumber here.
The cherish'd thoughts of early days,
Have made this spot most dear,—
Fast by the hallow'd church
Where first I learned to pray
In faith, and penitence and peace,—
Make ye my bed of clay.
192
Though life hath been to me
A scene of joy and love,
And sweet affections round my heart
Unchanging garlands wove,
Though knowledge in its power
At studious midnight came,
Enkindling in my raptur'd mind,
A bright, unwavering flame;
A scene of joy and love,
And sweet affections round my heart
Unchanging garlands wove,
Though knowledge in its power
At studious midnight came,
Enkindling in my raptur'd mind,
A bright, unwavering flame;
Yet dearer far than all,
Was Heaven's celestial lore:
Then come, belov'd and youthful train,
Who hear my voice no more
Come, sing the hymn I taught,
Here, by my lowly bed,
And with your Sabbath-lessons blend
Sweet memory of the dead.
Was Heaven's celestial lore:
Then come, belov'd and youthful train,
Who hear my voice no more
Come, sing the hymn I taught,
Here, by my lowly bed,
And with your Sabbath-lessons blend
Sweet memory of the dead.
| Zinzendorff, and other poems | |