Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/134

                                                 Tell we where
His blessed knees thy flinty bosom prest,
When all night long his wrestling prayer went up;
That I may pour my tear-wet orison
Upon that sacred spot. Thou Lamb of God!
Who for our sakes wert wounded unto death,
Bid blinded Zion turn from Sinai's fires
Her tortured foot, and from the thundering law
Her terror-stricken ear rejoicing raise
Unto the Gospel's music. Bring again
Thy scattered people who so long have borne
A fearful punishment, so long wrung out
The bitter dregs of pale astonishment
Into the wine-cup of the wondering earth.
And oh! to us, who from our being's dawn
Lisp out Salvation's lessons, yet do stray
Like erring sheep, to us thy Spirit give,
That we may keep thy law, and find thy fold,
Ere in the desolate city of the dead
We make our tenement, while Earth doth blot
Our history from the record of mankind.