Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/88

Who, in that undecypher'd scroll,
    The mystic characters may see,
Save He who reads the secret soul,
    And holds of life and death the key?

Then, on thy midnight journey roam,
    Poor wandering child of rayless gloom,
And to thy last and narrow home,
    Drop gently from this living tomb.

Yes,—uninterpreted and drear,
    Toil onward with benighted mind,
Still kneel at prayers thou can'st not hear,
    And grope for truth thou may'st not find.

No scroll of friendship, or of love,
    Must breathe soft language o'er thy heart,
Nor that blest Book which guides above,
    Its message to thy soul impart.

But Thou, who didst on Calvary die,
    Flows not thy mercy wide and free?
Thou, who didst rend of Death the tie
    Is Nature's seal too strong for thee?

And Thou, Oh Spirit pure! whose rest
    Is with the lowly contrite train,
Illume the temple of her breast,
    And cleanse of latent ill the stain,

That she, whose pilgrimage below,
    Was night that never hoped a morn,
That undeclining day may know
    Which of eternity is born.