Where vivid lightnings rend the tropic sky,
And hurricanes in lawless fury fly,
Where fierce tornados dosolate the plain,
And dark monsoons in fearful horror reign.
Say, hast thou all the various ills survey'd,
Each trial balanc'd, and each sorrow weigh'd;
Wilt thou not shrink at perils so severe,
And, for thy country, shed the bitter tear?
Will not thy soul, with fond regret, review
Scenes of past joy, and friends belov'd and true?
Methinks I hear th' indignant answer "No,
Arm'd with the strength of Israel's God I go,
Nor toil, nor grief, nor danger do I dread,
Nor Cancer's sun, fierce flaming o'er my head.
Nor fell Sirocco, whose pestiferous breath,
To feel, is poison, to inhale, is death;
I long to spread the dear Redeemer's name,
His Gospel publish, and his praise proclaim.
If God command, my cheerful feet would go
To the wide wastes of everlasting snow,
To Lapland's wilds, or Greenland's farthest coast,
Where winter reigns in everlasting frost.
From Europe's shores to farther India's lands,
From Zembla's coast to Afric's burning sands;
li God appoint, my cheerful feet would go,
Nor dread the burning clime, nor fear the polar
Yet think, bold youth, what trials still await,
The proud will scorn thee, and the wicked hate }
The lukewarm soul condemn thy burning zeal,
And few reciprocate what few can feel.
O think how sad in Ceylon's spicy groves,
deserted missionary roves:
The
In vain, for him, the rich bananas spread
A broad umbrella o'er his aching head;
In vain, for him, the cassia's rich perfume,
The nutmeg's fragrance, or the fig-tree's bloom,
Delights the sense, or charms the raptur'd eye,
While disappointment prompts the frequent sigh.
New fears distress him, and new doubts perplex,
New cares disturb, new disappointments vex;
Small fruit, he sees, of all his pain and toil,
While error springs prolific as the soil.
Still to his Caste the native blind adheres,
And prejudice a brazen bulwark rears,
While foes without, and friends within, assail,
And but for God's support, his heart would fail.
Hast thou, intrepid youth, this scene survey'd,
In melancholy prospect thus array'd?
Canst thou these ills endure, and numbers more,
Ills that would chill the heart to count them o'er?
Canst thou all earthly good account but loss,
And nail all pride and glory to the cross?
Then, brother, turn, where brighter prospects rise,
And happier scenes salute our weary eyes,
God shall support thee wheresoe'er thou go,
Thy guide in joy, and sole resort in wo,
And Jesus' love shall every care beguile,
Make the bleak rock and arid desert smile.
Then go, belov'd of God, intrepid youth,
Bear to the distant isles the word of truth,
On India's plains display the hallow'd cross,
And count, for this, all other good but loss,
With holy zeal, the blood-stain'd banner wave,
And tell the Hindoo, Jesus died to save ;
Go, spread Immanuel's wondrous name afar,
And preach Salvation to the Malabar.
The time shall come, when every land shall own
The Lord of life, and bow before his throne ;
His kingdom shall extend from pole to pole,
And truth's blest light illuminate the whole.
Hail, glorious morn! hail, long-expected day!
When truth shall bear the universal sway,
From North to South her empire wide extend,
And East and West in Christian union blend.
Then peace shall flourish on her noblest plan,
Bas'd on the heav'n-taught love of God and man.
Then go, dear youth, where zeal and duty call,
Go, tell the Heathen, Jesus died for all;
Bear to remotest lands the word of life,
And wage 'gainst sin a never-ceasing strife.
Go, and the God of heaven thy guide shall be,
And safe conduct thee o'er the swelling sea.
ADDRESSED TO A LADY, WHO ASKED THE AU
THOR IF SHE WAS NOT ALWAYS HAPPY.
LADY! couldst thou hear the sigh,
The secret sigh that heaves my breast;
Or view the tear that dims mine eye,
Thou wouldst not think me always blest.
There is a grief that lingers here,
In my warm heart its weight is known; It claims no sympathetic tear, 'Tis known and felt by me alone.
For I the smiling season knew,
And mem'ry yet the scene will trace;
When the bright hours in rapture flew,
Nor sorrow in my heart had place.
By fancy's pencil, dipp'd in dreams,
The scenes of future life I drew,
And tun'd my harp to airy themes,
And sang of joys for ever new.
|