Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/205

Light for the cliffs of Greece!
    Light for that trampled clime!
Where the wrath of the Spoiler refused to cease
    Ere it wrecked the boast of time,—
See! the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace,
    Grudge ye your boon sublime?

Light on the Hindoo shed!
    On the maddening idol-train;
The flame of the Suttee is dire and red,
    And the Fakir faints with pain,
And the dying moan on their cheerless bed
    By the Ganges laved in vain.

Light for the Persian sky!
    The Sophi's wisdom fades,
And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy
    Armour when Death invades;
Hark! Hark! to the sainted martyr's sigh
    From Ararat's mournful shades.

Light for the Burman vales!
    For the islands of the sea!
For the land where the slave-ship fills its sails
    With sighs of agony,
And her kidnapped babes the mother wails,
    'Neath the lone banana-tree.

Light for the ancient race
    Exiled from Zion's rest!
Homeless they roam from place to place,
    Benighted and opprest;
They shudder at Sinai's fearful base,—
    Guide them to Calvary's breast.