Till rising where immortal lyres
Shall to your hand be given,
Ye find that ye on earth have learn'd
The melody of Heaven.
MORAVIAN MISSIONS TO GREENLAND.
Why steers yon bold adventurous prow
On toward the arctick zone,
Defying blasts that rudely seal
To Ocean's breast like stone?
Why dare her crew those fearful seas
Where icy mountains dash,
And make the proudest ship a wreck
With one tremendous crash?
They come, who seek the spirit's gold,
They dare yon dreary sphere,
And winter startles on his throne,
Their strain of praise to hear:
They come, Salvation's lamp to light
Where frost and darkness reign,
And with a deathless joy to cheer
The sons of want and pain.
And lo! the chapel rears its head
Beneath those stranger-skies,
And to the sweet-ton'd Sabbath-bell
The thick-ribb'd ice replies,
