Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Death of the Rev. Gordon Hall
DEATH OF THE REV. GORDON HALL.
The healer droops,—no more his skill
May ease the sufferer's moan,—
The hand that sooth'd another's pang,
Sinks powerless neath its own;
The Teacher dies;—he came to plant
Deep in a heathen soil,
The germ of everlasting life,
He faints amid the toil.
There was a vision of the Sea,
That pain'd his dying strife,
Why stole that vision o'er his soul,
Thus 'mid the wreck of life?
A form, by holiest love endear'd
There rode the billowy crest,
And tenderly his pallid boys
Were folded to her breast.
Then rose the long remember'd scenes
Of his far, native bowers,
The white-spir'd church, the mother's hymn,
And boyhood's clustering flowers,
And strong that country of his heart,
The green and glorious West,
Shar'd in the parting throb of love
That shook the dying breast.
Brief was the thought, the dream, the pang,
For high Devotion came,
And brought the martyr's speechless joy,
And wing'd the prayer of flame,
And stamp'd upon the marble face
Heaven's smile serenely sweet,
And bade the icy, quivering lip
The praise of God repeat.
Strange, olive brows with tears were wet,
As a lone grave was made,
And there, mid Asia's arid sands
Salvation's herald laid,
But bright that shroudless clay shall burst
From its uncoffin'd bed,
When the Archangel's awful trump
Convenes the righteous dead.