Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/96

        One struck a lyre of wondrous power,
            With thrilling music fraught,
        That chain'd the flying summer hour,
            And charm'd the listener's thought;
For still would its tender cadence be
            "Follow me! Follow me!
And every morn a smile shall bring,
As sweet as the merry lay I sing."

    She ceas'd, and with a serious air
        The other made reply,
    "Shall he not also be my care?
    May not I his pleasures share?
            Sister! Sister! tell me why?
    Need Memory e'er with hope contend?
Doth not the virtuous soul, still find in both a friend?"

            The youth beheld the strife,
                And eagerly replied,
            "Come, both, and be my guide,
                 And gild the path of life;"
    So he gave to each a trusting kiss,
And laid him down, and his dream was bliss.

        The man came forth to run his race,
            And ever when the morning light
        Rous'd him from the trance of night,
            When singing from her nest,
        The lark went up with dewy breast,
Hope by his pillow stood with angel grace,
        And as a mother cheers her son,
        She girded his daily harness on.