Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Ordination
THE ORDINATION.
Up to thy master's work! for thou art sworn
To do His bidding, till the hand of Death
Strike off thine armour.—Not among the gaudes,
And pomps and pleasures of this fleeting world
Is thy vocation.—Thy deep vow denies
To hoard its gold,—or truckle for its smile,
Or bind its blood-stained laurel on thy brow,—
—A nobler field is thine.—The soul!—The soul!—
That is thy province,—that mysterious thing,
Which hath no limit from the walls of sense.—
No chill from hoary Time,—with pale decay
No fellowship,—but shall stand forth unchang'd
Unscorch'd amid the resurrection fires,
To bear its boundless lot of good or ill,
And thou dost take authority to aid
This pilgrim-essence to a throne in Heaven
Among the glorious harpers, and the ranks
Of radiant seraphim and cherubim,
Thy business is with that which cannot die,—
Whose subtle thought the untravel'd universe
Spans on swift wing, from slumbering ages sweeps
Their buried treasures, scans the vault of Heaven,
Weighing its orbs of light, and pointing out
Their trackless pathway through the blue expanse,
Foils the red comet in its flaming speed,
And aims to read the secrets of its God,
Yet thou a son of clay, art privileg'd
To make thy Saviour's image brighter still,
In this majestic soul.
Give God the praise
That thou art counted worthy,—and lay down
Thy lip in dust.—Bethink thee of its loss,—
For He whose sighs on Olivet, whose pangs
On Calvary, best speak its priceless worth
Saith that it may be lost. Should it sin on
Till the last hour of grace and penitence
Is meted out, ah! what would it avail
Though the whole world with all its pomp and power
And plumage, were its own? what were its gain
When the brief hour-glass of this life shall fail
And leave remorse, no grave,—despair, no hope?
Up, blow thy trumpet sound the loud alarm
To those who sleep in Zion.—Boldly warn
To 'scape their condemnation, o'er whose head
Age after age of misery hath roll'd
Who from their prison-house look up and see
Heaven's golden gate,—and to its watchmen cry
"What of the night?" while the dread answer falls
With fearful echo down the unfathom'd depths:
"Eternity!"
Should one of these lost souls
Amid its tossings utter forth thy name,
As one who might have pluck'd it from the pit,
Thou Man of God! would there not be a burst
Of tears in Heaven?
Oh! live the life of prayer
The life of faith in the meek Son of God
The life of tireless labor for His sake:
So may the angel of the Covenant bring
Thee to thy home in bliss, with many a gem
To glow forever in thy Master's crown.