Hail! ye who long with faithful hand
Have fondly till'd that favor'd soil,
We come, we come, a brother-band
To share the burden of your toil.
Land of our birth! we may not stay
The ardor of hearts to tell,
Friends of our youth! we dare not say
How deep within our souls ye dwell.
But when the dead, both small and great
Shall stand before the Judge's seat,
When sea and sky and earthly state
All like a baseless vision fleet,
The hope that then some heathen eye
Thro' us, an angel's glance may raise,
Bids us to vanquish nature's tie,
And turn her parting tear to praise.
CHRISTIAN SETTLEMENTS IN AFRICA.
Winds! what have ye gather'd from Afric's strand,
As ye swept the breadth of that fragrant land?
The breath of the spice-bud, the rich perfume
Of balm and of gum and of flowret's bloom?
"We have gather'd nought, save a pagan prayer,
And the stifling sigh of the heart's despair."
