Poems (Stephens)/Henry M. Stanley

by Eliza Jane Stephens

HENRY M. STANLEY.

Oh great explorer, gladly going forth,
 To succor in most dire distress,
A fellow laborer in the same great work
 Of saving men from wretchedness.

Delaying not because of rebel hosts
 Or traitor's arts that morn depress,
The fearful jungles, or the barren waste
 Or dangers of the wilderness.

But suffering, and well pleased to endure
 Until the rescue sure was made—
Then nature's strength first yielded to the strain
 And fell disease upon thee preyed.

But Providence had kindly raised thee up,
 And counted not thy labors done.
For wondrous sights were yet in store tor thee
 Beneath the glow of Afric's sun.

Wild mountain ranges, with their peaks of snow,
 Stood frowning there, though all alone,
And mighty rivers thundered on their course,
 To all our race but thee unknown.

And forests tall and far extending too,
 Whose wealth had never been foretold,
And sunny plains outstretched before thee lay
 Where stranger's foot ne'er pressed the mold.

And lakes, that ne'er had mirror'd such a face,
 Responsive gave a look to thee,
And thoughtful people thronged about thy way
 That were a goodly race to see.

But after all the wonders thou hast seen,
 So much that gave sincere delight,
A simple church surmounted by a cross,
 Was unto thee a rapturous sight.

And so it is, though honors thee await,
 For all those gracious deeds of thine,
Thy noble heart holds sacred in its love,
 That symbol of the gilt divine.