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THE MISSIONARY SHIP.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


261

THE MISSIONARY SHIP.

Blow fresh, ye favoring breezes, blow,
Their canvas rounding like swells of snow!
Ye rolling waters, lie smooth below;
And over the skies may no storms arise;
For the sowers go forth to sow!
They go in lands by the heathen trod
To sow the seed of the Word of God;—
From the root of Jesse to show the rod,
'Mid the desert gloom, till the “Branch” shall bloom
O'er its idols beneath the sod.
Shine clear, O sun, on the sparkling sea!
Of Him who nameth himself by thee,
The light life-giving, and pure, and free,
To the blind to show, far away they go,
And with leaves of the healing Tree.
Speed on, bright ship, in thy grandeur fair!
We give thy helm to an angel's care,
Salvation's heralds, unharmed, to bear
To the destined goal; for the priceless soul
Is the jewel which draws them there.
From friends and home in their far remove,
Around them hover, thou Heavenly Dove!
Descend, sweet Comforter, from above,
To strengthen their bands, and hold up their hands,
For their labor of faith and love.

262

O Thou, the beams of whose chambers lie
Below the deep and above the sky,
'Mid shadows of death to thy friends be nigh,
Till glory divine from the Cross shall shine,
And Death in its radiance die!