And Christ now leads him to his rest.
3 His rest? his battle! he must win
Fair Zion’s gate through ranks of sin;
Why are these words, this solemn show,
If sin be not his deadly foe?
4 There gathers here no heavenly host;
No fiery tongues of Pentecost,—
No gentle dove with winnowing wings
The spirit to thy servant brings.
5 The still, small voice hath called him here,