Poems (Truesdell)/The Missionaries

by Helen Truesdell

THE MISSIONARIES.

PArT FIRST.

'Twas evening: all was calm and still;
No sound, save the lone whippowil,
Broke on the stillness of that hour,
Within that gloomy woodland bower;
Fair Cynthia shone with ray serene
O'er hill and valley, clothed in green;
And hill and valley, lake and wood,
"Were wrapped in deepest solitude.

The stars were, round their nightly queen,
Arrayed in splendid silvery sheen,
And Nature in her loveliest mood,
Seemed holding converse with the good.
It was, indeed, a lovely night!
The wild birds all bad winged their flight
Home, to their lofty nests on high,
Beneath the broad and azure sky.

The Indian in his wigwam lay,
Dreaming the unconscious hours away;
And all was hushed, and not a sound
Disturbed the solemn shades around,
But hark! a voice breaks on the ear,
And fills the heart with sudden fear;
And, lo! beside that rock-bound shore,
Strange forms are seen ne'er seen before.

And now, with mast and pennon fair,
A stately ship was standing there,—
Which, on that waste of waters wide,
Before, was never seen to glide.
The Indian, startled with affright,
Looked out upon the brow of night,
And quickly springing from the ground,
Made the wild woods re-echo round.

"Wake, brother! wake! the White Man's come
To drive us from our mountain home;
And soon, with fierce and bloody hand,
They'll force us from our own loved land!"
He boldly spoke, and by them stood,
Amid that deep embowering wood,
With folded arms and haughty head,
Then sternly to their leader said—

"What brings thee, pale-faced stranger! here?
To hunt with us the bounding deer?
Or dost thou think by cruel art,
We from our hunting-grounds will part?
Or 'neath the fir-tree and the pine,
Wilt traffic here with rum and wine?"
The stranger quickly gave his hand,
And thus replied in accents bland:—

"We seek not to oppress the brave,
Or drive them to a bloody grave;
And though no foot of land is ours,
We do not want your woodland bowers;
The fatal wine we never sip,
Or place it to our brother's lip:
No, we have come far o'er the wave,
To tell thee, Jesus died to save."

"We for his sake count all things lost:—
Leave home and country for the cross;
Yes, gladly bade them all farewell,
That we the wondrous tale might tell,
Repeat the story of his birth,
His love to fallen sons of earth—
Tell how that false and murderous crew,
With vengeful hands, their Master slew—

"Of Judas speak, that erring one,
Who's justly called perdition's son,
Who, with his false and flattering breath,
Betrayed his Master unto death.
O God of mercy! grant me grace,
To teach this dark benighted race
That Jesus lives and reigns above.
And rules in majesty and love!"

PART SECOND.

Kind reader I once again we meet
Each other, once more fondly greet.
It is not now at gentle even,
While stars bedeck the vault of heaven,—
No, Sol's bright rays have reached the sky,
And morn's first smile just greets the eye;
A winding horn is loudly heard,
Resounding through a neighboring wood.

And now, perhaps, my readers ween
I would describe a hunting scene!
Not mine, to tell of idle sport,
Or chaste Diana's votaries court,—
In solemn truths I hope to deal,
With prayer that I each truth may feel—
Oh, may each word that I impart
Shed hallowed radiance round the heart!

Now, gentle reader, bend thine ear,
For angels keep their vigils here;
And 'mid the forest, I have found
A spot of consecrated ground.
Now stretch thine eye o'er yonder plain,
O'er yonder sloping wide domain,
And look again, upon the sod
They've pitched their tents to worship God.

"They! whom?" methinks I hear you say—
They who came o'er the watery way?"
No, but the converts God has given
To these devoted sons of heaven;
Behold, a band of warriors brave,

All stately, dignified, and grave;
Slowly they wend their way along,
Chanting aloud a solemn song.
List! list! and you their lay may hear,
As they approach—draw near, draw near.

"Our weapons of warfare we've grounded,
 'Gainst Jesus no longer we fight,
But join now in deep adoration
 To our Saviour in solemn delight.

"Oh! blest be the day when the White Man
 First sought 'mid our forests to roam,
Forsaking the land of his birthplace,
 And leaving his own cherished home.

"In ignorance and darkness we wandered,
 No man for our souls seemed to care;
But what will not truth oft accomplish,
 Accompanied by teaching and prayer?"

A new scene now awaits our view,
A scene of all that 's good and true:
A ring was formed, where on the ground
Benches and chairs were strewn around;
A table in the center stood,
Roughly formed of oaken wood;
The minister was standing there,
Lost in deep thoughtfulness and prayer.

An emblem in his hand he bore,
A pledge of love, which ne'er before
Had the untutored forest child
Beheld, within that western wild;
And now he took the bread, and brake,
And kindly bade the Red Man take—
"Memorial of his love for thee;
Do this, He said, and think of me."

They ate the bread, and drank the wine,
And thought upon that glorious Vine;
And as they rose, each wood and glen
Re-echoed with a loud "Amen!"