And pathless mountain tops, that rose to bar
Her log-rear'd mansion from the anxious eye
Of kindred and of friend. Even triflers felt
How strong and beautiful is woman's love,
That taking in its hand its thornless joys,
The tenderest melodies of tuneful years,
Yea! and its own life also,—lays them all,
Meek and unblenching, on a mortal's breast
Reserving nought, save that unspoken hope
Which hath its root in God.
Mock not with mirth,
A scene like this, ye laughter-loving ones;—
The licens'd jester's lip, the dancer's heel—
What do they here?
Joy, serious and sublime,
Such as doth nerve the energies of prayer,
Should swell the bosom, when a maiden's hand,
Fill'd with life's dewy flow'rets, girdeth on
That harness, which the ministry of Death
Alone unlooseth, but whose fearful power
May stamp the sentence of Eternity.
DEPARTURE OF MISSIONARIES FOR CEYLON.
Wave, wide Ceylon, your foliage fair,
Your spicy fragrance freely strew;
See, Ocean's threatening surge we dare,
To bear salvation's gift to you.
