Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/276

Who never more to health and life return'd;
For he who plung'd, did strait forget his God,
And curse himself, and die. Amaz'd I marked
Some, who profess'd Christ s name, with eager toil
Forming new channels for that baleful tide,
As if to irrigate the scorching land
With Etna's lava. Not of the dire fount
They drank themselves,—nor to their offspring gave,—
The pestilential draught;—they only prest
Its venom to their weaker neighbor's lip
Till the red plague-spot rankled in his soul.—
Still, from their household altars, morn and even,
Duly arose the prayer that God would change
The sinner s heart,—and turn those erring feet
Whose steps take hold on hell.
                                             I saw the shroud
Of pagan darkness, from the breast of earth
Begin to melt away.
                                 "Who holds the lamp,
Thus to illume thy midnight?"—and again
She answered, "Christians!—for their master saith
That like a city set upon a hill,
Their light may not be hid."
                                      I look'd,—and lo!
With warm, untiring zeal, they spread the wing
Of strong benevolence, to bear the gift
Of mercy to the heathen,—and to fill
The idol-temples with Jehovah's praise.
Yet some, while mov'd with purpose so sublime,
Expansive and seraphic,—strangely sold
A poison to their brother,—though it sent