Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Death of a Former Pupil
DEATH OF A FORMER PUPIL.
I saw her toiling for the unclad poor
With tireless zeal, and bending o'er the sick
Through the long watches of the winter night.
Why laid she thus their burdens to her heart
Forgetful of youth's pleasures? Did some voice
Prophetic warn her of that hasting clime
Where are no sick to comfort, and no poor
To need a garment? Felt she that her step
Was near that threshhold where the weary rest?
—We may not say what light was in her soul,—
For that Blest Book which speaks the Eternal Mind
Was her close counsellor, and night and day
She woo'd its wisdom with a childlike love,
'Till the wild gladness of her nature took
A deeper and a holier tint, like one
Who girds his Sabbath-mantle meekly on,
To tread God's courts.
Come! 'tis a holy hour,
For Easter-morn is purpling the far hills,
And She, our Church, a weeping pilgrim long,
Fast by the footsteps of her suffering Lord,
Up to his cross, and downward to his tomb,
Doth hail his rising. Lo! her feast is spread,
And her anointed herald hath announc'd
In "Christ's behalf," the invitation blest—
Come, thou art bidden, daughter. 'Twas thy prayer
To lift thy young heart's banner up this day,
Before his altar, and to join the host
Who follow him to death. Behold, they kneel
With meek obedience to their Master's voice,
And through the consecrated emblems seek
Remission of their sins. Why lingerest thou?
—They pointed to a chamber and a couch,
Where fever with its red and quenchless fires
Wrought in Life's citadel. Yet 'mid the pain
And tossing of that sleepless agony
When every nerve was quivering, and the veins
Shrank from the lava-tide that thro' them flow'd
There rose a prayer to Jesus, and those lips
So parch'd and pallid, spake the words of Heaven.
Death drew the curtain, and she slept in peace:
But tears are flowing 'mid the pleasant halls
Where her affections rested, shedding forth
Fresh brilliance, like some never-setting star.
—Yes, there are lingering sighs of mournful thought
Where Poverty doth trim its naked hearth,
And frequent lispings of her name from babes
Who by the robes that shield them from the storm,
And by the holy lessons that she taught
Upon the day of God, remember her.
—But keener grief doth dwell in one lone heart,
Which by the strongest links of earthly hope
Had bound her to its love, so that each scene
Of bright futurity, the Pastor's home,
Altar and flock, and household hymn at eve
Came coupled with her image.
—Of such woe
Weak language speaketh not. But ye who give
Your angel-welcome to each happy guest
That from time's tribulation riseth pure,
Vouchsafe some echo from your thrilling harps,
That at Heaven's bliss, these woes of earth may fade.