Part 12 (1/2)

But stop--I dare not venture Too far on holy ground; Its _heights_ are too exalted, Its _depths_ are too profound.

Yet may I be permitted, When this brief life is past, The hope in yon bright heaven, To find my home at last.

When cleansed from all pollution, From sin and sorrow free, I, with unclouded vision, My Saviour G.o.d may see.

Brooklyn, May, 1853.

TO MY MISSIONARY FRIENDS,

MR. AND MRS. I.G. BLISS.

Why, dear friends, oh! tell us wherefore You're so anxious to be gone; Is the country late adopted Dearer to you than your own?

Have you found a father, mother, In that distant clime to love, Or a sister, friend, or brother, Better than the long-tried prove?

”Oh, no! believe us, no such motives Prompt us to tempt old ocean's wave; We go among the poor benighted, Perhaps to find an early grave.

”Ah! you know not half our anguish-- Only those who _feel_ can tell-- When we think of the sad parting, And that solemn word--farewell.

”But while lingering, souls are dying, Souls that Jesus came to save; And of such a priceless value, That for them his life he gave.

”Trials great no doubt await us In that distant home of ours; Work requiring so much labor, As to exceed our utmost powers.

”But He who said 'Go preach the gospel,'

All powerful is, to aid, defend; 'Lo I am with you always,' said he, 'And will be even to the end.'

”With such command, and such a promise, Sure our path of duty's plain; Do not then, dear friends, persuade us Longer with _thee_ to remain.”