Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/97
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The Missionaries' Farewell.
Land where the bones of our fathers are sleeping,
Land where our dear ones and fond ones are weeping,
Land where the light of Jehovah is shining,
We leave thee lamenting, but not with repining.
Land where our dear ones and fond ones are weeping,
Land where the light of Jehovah is shining,
We leave thee lamenting, but not with repining.
Land of our fathers, in grief we forsake thee,
Land of our friends, may Jehovah protect thee,
Land of the Church, may the light shine around thee,
Nor darkness, nor trouble, nor sorrow confound thee.
Land of our friends, may Jehovah protect thee,
Land of the Church, may the light shine around thee,
Nor darkness, nor trouble, nor sorrow confound thee.
God is thy God: thou shalt walk in his brightness,
Gird thee with joy, let thy robes be of whiteness:
God is thy God! let thy hills shout for gladness;
But ah! we must leave thee—we leave thee in sadness.
Gird thee with joy, let thy robes be of whiteness:
God is thy God! let thy hills shout for gladness;
But ah! we must leave thee—we leave thee in sadness.
Dark is our path o'er the dark rolling ocean;
Dark are our hearts; but the fire of devotion
Kindles within:—and a far distant nation
Shall learn from our lips the glad song of salvation.
Dark are our hearts; but the fire of devotion
Kindles within:—and a far distant nation
Shall learn from our lips the glad song of salvation.
Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows?
Land of our rest!—when a few more to-morrows
Pass o'er our heads; we will seek our cold pillows,
And rest in our graves, far away o'er the billows.
Land of our rest!—when a few more to-morrows
Pass o'er our heads; we will seek our cold pillows,
And rest in our graves, far away o'er the billows.
Infidelity.
Thou who scornest truth divine,
Say what joy, what hope is thine?
Is this world from sorrow free?
Is this world enough for thee?
No; for care corrodes thy heart.
Art thou willing to depart?
No; thy nature bids thee shrink
From the void abyss's brink.
Thou may'st laugh, in broad sunshine;
Scoff, when sparkles the red wine;
Thou must tremble, when deep night
Shuts the pageant from thy sight.
Morning comes, and thou blasphemest;
Yet another day thou deemest
Thine; but soon its light will wane;
Then thy warning comes again.
There's a morrow with no night—
Broad and blazing, endless light!
Should its dawn thy dreams o'ertake,
Better thou didst never wake.
Say what joy, what hope is thine?
Is this world from sorrow free?
Is this world enough for thee?
No; for care corrodes thy heart.
Art thou willing to depart?
No; thy nature bids thee shrink
From the void abyss's brink.
Thou may'st laugh, in broad sunshine;
Scoff, when sparkles the red wine;
Thou must tremble, when deep night
Shuts the pageant from thy sight.
Morning comes, and thou blasphemest;
Yet another day thou deemest
Thine; but soon its light will wane;
Then thy warning comes again.
There's a morrow with no night—
Broad and blazing, endless light!
Should its dawn thy dreams o'ertake,
Better thou didst never wake.