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The New Zealand Evangelist

Original Poetry — The Farewell.

page 129

Original Poetry

The Farewell.

Addressed to a Missionary who for a period of twenty years had laboured with unceasing zeal, but his health giving way, he was obliged to return to his native country.

Brother, go! thy work is over,
On this long benighted shore;
Angel guards o'er thee shall hover,
When the restless surges roar.
Fear not thou the raging billow,
Nor the howling tempest's blast;
They shall watch around thy pillow,
Till the storm be overpast.—
He that holds them in his palm,
Can those furious surges calm—
He will surely, safely, guide thee,
And no harm can then betide thee.

Brother! when thy bark is sailing
O'er yon ocean calm and bright,
And this lovely isle is fading,
From the gazing mourner's sight;
Pray for us who stay yet longer,
Soldiers of the Lord most High,
That we may wax strong and stronger,
Unto certain victory:—
And before our Father's throne
Each receive a golden crown,
Each a heav'n-tuned harp be stringing,
And his praise be always singing.

Brother! when the waves are roaring
Hostile round your lab'ring bark,
And the drenching showers are pouring
On the gloomy surges dark,
Think our prayers are speeding for you,
Think the cry to Heaven ascends
That He would again restore you
Safe to country, home, and friends.
page 130 When your walk on earth is done,
Fought the fight, the battle won,
May you find in Heaven your treasure,
And a home of endless pleasure.

When among Britannia's preachers,
Raise the Macedonian cry:—
Come! oh, come! as sacred teachers,
Come and help ere sinners die!
Countless souls through earth's wide region,
Still are bound by Satan's chain—
Come, and teach them true religion;
Break the spell of Satan's chain.
To their dying souls proclaim
Saving grace, through Jesu's name;
Rouse the people without number,
From their long and death-like slumber.

Brother, go! nor wish to linger,
Longer in this beauteous isle;
Thou hast warned men of their danger,
Preach'd good news to sinners vile,
Now thy strength is daily sinking,
Haste away to Britain's shore;
Feeble nature now is shrinking,
From the work performed before.
Thy reward, a robe of white
Sparkling as a sunbeam bright,
By thy Lord and Saviour given,
Waits thee in yon peaceful Heaven.