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THE NEW-ZEALAND MISSIONARY.
“We cannot let him go. He says he is going to return to England —the ship is here to take him away. But no,—we will keep him and make him our slave; not our slave to fetch wood and draw water but our talking-slave. Yes,—he shall be our slave, to talk to and to teach us. Keep him we will.”—
Speech of Rev. Mr. Yates, at the Anniversary of the Church Missionary Society, London, May, 1835.
'Twas night, and in his tent he lay,
Upon a heathen shore,
While wildly on his wakeful ear
The ocean's billows roar;
'Twas midnight, and the war-club rang
Upon his threshold stone,
And heavy feet of savage men
Came fiercely tramping on.
Upon a heathen shore,
While wildly on his wakeful ear
The ocean's billows roar;
'Twas midnight, and the war-club rang
Upon his threshold stone,
And heavy feet of savage men
Came fiercely tramping on.
Loud were then tones in fierce debate,
The chieftain and his clan,
He shall not go,—he shall not go,
That missionary man;
For him the swelling sail doth spread,
The tall ship ride the wave,
But we will chain him to our coast,
Yes, he shall be our slave:
The chieftain and his clan,
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That missionary man;
For him the swelling sail doth spread,
The tall ship ride the wave,
But we will chain him to our coast,
Yes, he shall be our slave:
Not from the groves our wood to bear,
Nor water from the vale,
Not in the battle-front to stand,
Where proudest foe-men quail,
Nor the great war-canoe to guide,
Where crystal streams turn red;
But he shall be our slave to break
The soul its living bread.
Nor water from the vale,
Not in the battle-front to stand,
Where proudest foe-men quail,
Nor the great war-canoe to guide,
Where crystal streams turn red;
But he shall be our slave to break
The soul its living bread.
Then slowly peer'd the rising moon,
Above the forest-height,
And bathed each cocoa's leafy crown
In tides of living light:
To every cabin's grassy thatch
A gift of beauty gave,
And with a crest of silver cheer'd
Pacific's sullen wave.
Above the forest-height,
And bathed each cocoa's leafy crown
In tides of living light:
To every cabin's grassy thatch
A gift of beauty gave,
And with a crest of silver cheer'd
Pacific's sullen wave.
But o'er that gentle scene, a shout
In sudden clangor came,
“Come forth, come forth, thou man of God,
And answer to our claim:”
So down to those dark island-men,
He bow'd him as he spake,
“Behold, your servant will be
For Christ, my Master's sake.”
In sudden clangor came,
“Come forth, come forth, thou man of God,
And answer to our claim:”
So down to those dark island-men,
He bow'd him as he spake,
“Behold, your servant will be
For Christ, my Master's sake.”
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