Lord, save in one thing only, I was weak— I loved this people with a mother’s love, For their sake sanctified my spirit to thee In vigil, fast, and meditation long, On mountain and on moor. Thus, Lord, I wrought, Trusting that so Thy lineaments divine, Deeplier upon my spirit graved, might pass Thence on that hidden burthen which my heart Still from its substance feeding, with great pangs Strove to bring forth to Thee. O loyal race! Me too they loved. They waited me all night On lonely roads; and, as I preached, the day To those high listeners seemed a little hour. Have I not seen ten thousand brows at once Flash in the broad light of some Truth new risen, And felt like him, that Saint who cried, flame-girt, “At last do I begin to be a Christian?” Have I not seen old foes embrace? Seen him, That white-haired man who dashed him on the ground, Crying aloud, “My buried son, forgive! Thy sire hath touched the hand that shed thy blood?” Fierce chiefs knelt down in penance! Lord! how oft Shook I their tear-drop sparkles from my gown! ’Twas the forgiveness taught them all the debt, Great-hearted penitents! How many a youth Contemned the praise of men! How many a maid— O not in narrowness, but Love’s sweet pride And love-born shyness—jealous for a mate Himself not jealous—spurned terrestrial love, Glorying in heavenly Love’s fair oneness! Race High-dowered! God’s Truth seemed some remembered thing To them; God’s Kingdom smiled, their native haunt Prophesied then their daughters and their sons: Each man before the face of each upraised His hand on high, and said, “The Lord hath risen!” Then, like a stream from ice released, forth fled And wafted far the tidings, flung them wide, Shouted them loud from rocky ridge o’er bands Marching far down to war! The sower sowed With happier hope; the reaper bending sang, “Thus shall God’s Angels reap the field of God When we are ripe for heaven.” Lovers new-wed Drank of that water changed to wine, thenceforth Breathing on earth heaven’s sweetness. Unto such More late, whate’er of brightness time or will Infirm had dimmed, shone back from infant brows By baptism lit. Each age its garland found: Fair shone on trustful childhood faith divine: Eld, once a weight of wrinkles now upsoared In venerable lordship of white hairs, Seer-like and sage. Healed was a nation’s wound: All men believed who willed not disbelief; And sat in that oppugnancy steel-mailed: They cried, “Before thy priests our bards shall bow, And all our clans put on thy great Clan Christ!”