Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/22

                        Strong words, whose power
Can tame the sinful heart, he boldly spake,
And show'd to penitence, the faith which heals
The barb of anguish and the sting of death,
And rooting by the lowly cross, sheds forth
Such fragrance as immortal spirits breathe
In cloudless climes. The Gospel's glorious hope,
Its rule of purity, its eye of prayer,
Its foot of firmness on temptation's steep,
Its bark that fails not 'mid the storm of death,
He spread before them, and with gentlest tone,
Such as a brother to his sister breathes,
His little sister, simple and untaught,
Did urge them to the shelter of that ark
Which rides the wrathful deluge.
                                               Not a breath
Disturb'd the tide of eloquence. So fix'd
Were that rude auditory, it would seem
Almost as if a nation had become
Bronz'd into statues. Now and then a sigh,
The unbidden messenger of thought profound,
Parted the lip; or some barbarian brow
Contracted closer in a haughty frown,
As scowl'd the cynick, 'mid his idol-fanes,
When on Mars-Hill the inspired Apostle preach'd
Jesus of Nazareth.
                        The furrow'd soil
Was soft with sorrow. So the rain of heaven
Sank deeper in. What seed was sown that hour,
Eternity can tell. Brief human breath
Pour'd on the wind-harp of a hallow'd lip,
What marvels hath it wrought! and stranger still,