WIFE OF A MISSIONARY AT HER HUSBAND'S GRAVE.
There was a new-made grave,
On a far heathen shore,
Where lonely slept a man of God,
His mission-service o'er;
There, when the setting sun
Had tinged the west with flame,
A tender infant in her arms,
A mournful woman came.
Her youthful cheek was pale,
Her fair form bending low,
As thus upon the fitful gale
She pour'd her plaint of wo:
"Friend of my inmost soul,
The turf is on thy breast,
And here amid the stranger's land
Thy precious dust must rest.
"Our helpless babe I bring,
Who knew no father's love,
Nor look'd upon this world of pain
Till thou hadst risen above;
I lay him on thy bed,
Unconscious tears to weep,
Before our last farewell we take,
And dare the faithless deep.
