Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Funeral in a New Colony
FUNERAL IN A NEW COLONY.
Amid the forest-skirted plain
A few rude cabins spread,
And from their doors a humble train
Pass'd forth with drooping head;
They hied them to the dead man's home,
Lone hearth, and vacant chair,
Deep sorrow dimm'd that lowly dome,
Yet rose no voice of prayer.
His widow'd wife was weeping loud,
While closely to her breast,
Affrighted at the unwonted crowd,
A wondering infant prest,
His aged mother bending low
With poverty and care,
Sent forth a feeble wail of woe,—
Where was the soothing prayer?
They bare him through his cultured land,
They halted not to weep;
That corn was planted by his hand,
Who shall its harvest reap?
On, on, beneath his favorite trees
That coffin'd corpse they bear,
A sighing sound was on the breeze,
But still no voice of prayer.
Where his own plough had broke the soil,
A narrow grave was made,
And 'mid the trophies of his toil
The Emigrant they laid;
But none the balm of Heaven to shed,
With priestly power was there,
No hallow'd lip above the dead
To lift the voice of prayer.