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The New Zealand Evangelist



Self-murder! name it not: our island's shame;
That makes her the reproach of neighbouring states,
Shall Nature, swerving from her earliest dictate,
Self-preservation, fall by her own act?
Forbid it, Heaven! Let not, upon disgust,
The shameless hand be foully crimsoned o'er,
With blood of its own lord.—Dreadful attempt!
Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage
To rush into the presence of our Judge;
As if we challenged him to do his worst,
And mattered not his wrath.—Unheard of tortures
Must be reserved for such; these herd together;
The common damned shun their society,
And look upon themselves as fiends less foul.
Our time is fixed, and all our days are numbered;
How long, how short, we know not:—this we know,
Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,
Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission;
Like sentries that must keep their destined stand.
And wait the appointed hour, till they're relieved.
These only are the brave, that keep their ground.
And keep it to the last. To run away,
Is but a coward's trick: to run away
From this world's ills, that at the very worst
page 243 Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves By boldly venturing on a world unknown,
And plunging headlong in the dark;—'tis mad; No frenzy half so desperate as this