Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/296

"He shall not go,—he shall not go,
    That missionary man;
For him the swelling sail doth spread,
    The tall ship ride the wave,
But we will chain him to our coast,
    Yes, he shall be our slave:

Not from the groves our wood to bear,
    Nor water from the vale,
Not in the battle-front to stand,
    Where proudest foe-men quail,
Nor the great war-canoe to guide,
    Where crystal streams turn red;
But he shall be our slave to break
    The soul its living bread."

Then slowly peer'd the rising moon,
    Above the forest-height,
And bathed each cocoa's leafy crown
    In tides of living light:
To every cabin's grassy thatch
    A gift of beauty gave,
And with a crest of silver cheer'd
    Pacific's sullen wave.

But o'er that gentle scene, a shout
    In sudden clangor came,
"Come forth, come forth, thou man of God,
    And answer to our claim:"
So down to those dark island-men,
    He bow'd him as he spake,
"Behold, your servant will I be
    For Christ, my Master's sake."