THE MISSIONARY.
It is a glorious task to seek,
Where misery droops the patient head:
Where tears are on the widow’s cheek,
Where weeps the mourner o’er the dead.
These are the moments when the heart
Turns from a world no longer dear;
These are the moments to impart
The only hope still constant here.
That hope is present in our land,
For many a sacred shrine is there;
Time-honoured old cathedrals stand ;*Exeter Cathedral
Each village has its house of prayer.
O’er all the realm one creed is spread—
One name adored—one altar known:
If souls there be in doubt, or dread,
Alas! the darkness is their own.
The priest whose heart is in his toil
Hath here a task of hope and love;
He dwells upon his native soil,
He has his native sky above.
Not so beneath this foreign sky;
Not so upon this burning strand;
Where yonder giant temples lie,†Triad Figure:
Cave of Elephanta
The miracles of mortal hand.
Mighty and beautiful, but given
To idols of a creed profane;
That cast the shade of earth on heaven,
By fancies monstrous, vile, and vain.
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