Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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The Missionary's Death.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
The Missionary's Death.
Far in Caffraria's wilds remote,
Where solar winds, like lightning hot,
And burning heats parch up the plain,
God's servant stray'd, nor stray'd in vain.
His only aim was to convey
The gospel's sound to those who lay
Close shrouded by sin's opaque screen,
That hides heaven's bright angelic scene.
For this he rode the surging deep,
For this he climb'd the towering steep,
For this he roam'd the arid plain,
And suffer'd thirst and hunger's pain.
Impell'd, protected, by that power
Which shields in danger's darkest hour,
The cross's standard he unfurl'd
In that dark region of the world
Where terror fills the savage throne,
Beneath the ardent torrid zone;
And to that standard closely clung
The sable converts, old and young,
Who bless'd the kind, propitious hand
Which bore him to their barb'rous land.
The harp of Zion here he strung,
Where torture's voice erewhile had rung;
And furious ferity gave place
To soothing love's alluring grace;
Grim Paganism, in vengeance hot,
Fled back to regions more remote.
Where solar winds, like lightning hot,
And burning heats parch up the plain,
God's servant stray'd, nor stray'd in vain.
His only aim was to convey
The gospel's sound to those who lay
Close shrouded by sin's opaque screen,
That hides heaven's bright angelic scene.
For this he rode the surging deep,
For this he climb'd the towering steep,
For this he roam'd the arid plain,
And suffer'd thirst and hunger's pain.
Impell'd, protected, by that power
Which shields in danger's darkest hour,
The cross's standard he unfurl'd
In that dark region of the world
Where terror fills the savage throne,
Beneath the ardent torrid zone;
And to that standard closely clung
The sable converts, old and young,
Who bless'd the kind, propitious hand
Which bore him to their barb'rous land.
The harp of Zion here he strung,
Where torture's voice erewhile had rung;
And furious ferity gave place
To soothing love's alluring grace;
Grim Paganism, in vengeance hot,
Fled back to regions more remote.
But trouble's dire pestif'rous breath
Came on, portending sudden death;
Consumption rapid seized his blood,
And tainted all the vital flood.
The pallid cheek and languid eye
Bespoke his dissolution nigh;
Yet, while he felt the stinging dart,
Religion soothed the burning smart.
Came on, portending sudden death;
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And tainted all the vital flood.
The pallid cheek and languid eye
Bespoke his dissolution nigh;
Yet, while he felt the stinging dart,
Religion soothed the burning smart.
With faces all with tears bedew'd
His mourning converts round him stood,
Grieved as the prophet's sons, when, far,
Elijah rode the flaming car.
No more they join his prayers sincere,
No more his counsels sage they hear,
No more they list him swell the song
Of praise that doth to God belong!
But ere he drew his latest breath,
And ere he closed his eyes in death,
While every heart with sorrow bled,
His blessing thus he on them shed:—
His mourning converts round him stood,
Grieved as the prophet's sons, when, far,
Elijah rode the flaming car.
No more they join his prayers sincere,
No more his counsels sage they hear,
No more they list him swell the song
Of praise that doth to God belong!
But ere he drew his latest breath,
And ere he closed his eyes in death,
While every heart with sorrow bled,
His blessing thus he on them shed:—
“My race on earth is almost run,
The prize of warfare's almost won;
Fast, fast the mission'd angel flies
To seize my tongue, and seal my eyes,
And waft me to the realms of light,
Unvisited by sable night.
O could my tongue the joys declare
Which faith confirms to centre there!
Or the efflux divine impart
Which now pervades my trembling heart,
'Twould captivate the vilest soul
That doth in riot's circle roll.
O may the God of boundless love
Deign, from his radiant throne above,
To cast on you his watchful eye,
And aid you when temptation's nigh!
O may my labours not prove vain
On Afric's far secluded plain;
To 'lumine which, o'er sea and land,
I've sped at God's divine command.
Though ofttimes danger did increase,
I'm here allow'd to die in peace.”
The prize of warfare's almost won;
Fast, fast the mission'd angel flies
To seize my tongue, and seal my eyes,
And waft me to the realms of light,
Unvisited by sable night.
O could my tongue the joys declare
Which faith confirms to centre there!
Or the efflux divine impart
Which now pervades my trembling heart,
'Twould captivate the vilest soul
That doth in riot's circle roll.
O may the God of boundless love
Deign, from his radiant throne above,
To cast on you his watchful eye,
And aid you when temptation's nigh!
O may my labours not prove vain
On Afric's far secluded plain;
To 'lumine which, o'er sea and land,
I've sped at God's divine command.
Though ofttimes danger did increase,
I'm here allow'd to die in peace.”
“Oft have I told you what can smooth
Life's rugged path, and trouble soothe;
Oft have I taught the power of faith,
Which cheers through life, and welcomes death;
And now, to show I've been sincere—
Death comes—I hail him without fear:
He comes to ope the gate of heaven,
And cares and toils away are driven.
I go, triumphant praise to swell!
May God attend you all: farewell!
Lord Jesus, in thy arms of love,
Me welcome to the world above.
Life's rugged path, and trouble soothe;
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Which cheers through life, and welcomes death;
And now, to show I've been sincere—
Death comes—I hail him without fear:
He comes to ope the gate of heaven,
And cares and toils away are driven.
I go, triumphant praise to swell!
May God attend you all: farewell!
Lord Jesus, in thy arms of love,
Me welcome to the world above.
Afresh the streams of sorrow flow
In more depressed tones of woe!
More keenly through each heart doth thrill
Grief's piercing throe, life's stream to chill,
As, round their father's drear death-bed,
They sigh for pleasures ever fled—
His counsels sweet, his lessons sage,
Drawn from the heaven-inspired page.
In more depressed tones of woe!
More keenly through each heart doth thrill
Grief's piercing throe, life's stream to chill,
As, round their father's drear death-bed,
They sigh for pleasures ever fled—
His counsels sweet, his lessons sage,
Drawn from the heaven-inspired page.
Oh how unlike the grief-veil'd joy
That beams from the dissembling eye
Of Europe's sons, whose bosoms bound
To hear their sires' reversion sound!
With downcast look now, see them tread
The pathway with the mighty dead,
Who did their souls from bondage save
When hung o'er deep destruction's grave.
No feigning-weeping eye was there,
While on the shrouded corpse they bear;
No breast but heaved grief's deepest sigh
While round his grave they thronged nigh;
No soul but render'd thanks to heaven
That to them such a guide was given,
As drearily they homeward stray'd
From burying of their sacred dead.
That beams from the dissembling eye
Of Europe's sons, whose bosoms bound
To hear their sires' reversion sound!
With downcast look now, see them tread
The pathway with the mighty dead,
Who did their souls from bondage save
When hung o'er deep destruction's grave.
No feigning-weeping eye was there,
While on the shrouded corpse they bear;
No breast but heaved grief's deepest sigh
While round his grave they thronged nigh;
No soul but render'd thanks to heaven
That to them such a guide was given,
As drearily they homeward stray'd
From burying of their sacred dead.
EPITAPH.
Like some fair star, unseen by human eye,That doth on wide creation's outskirts burn,
Here God's true servant doth sequester'd lie,
To slumber in the dark oblivious urn;
Yet comes the day when he shall mount on high,
A star conspicuous in the spiritual sky.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |