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THE MISSIONARY.
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But, oh! my spirit burned within,
My heart beat full and fast!
He came not nigh—he went away—
And then my joy was past.
And yet my comrades marked it not:
My voice was still the same;
They saw me smile, and o'er my face
No signs of sadness came.
They little knew my hidden thoughts;
And they will never know
The aching anguish of my heart,
The bitter burning woe!
Acton.
THE MISSIONARY.
Plough, vessel, plough the British main,
Seek the free ocean's wider plain;
Leave English scenes and English skies,
Unbind, dissever English ties;
Bear me to climes remote and strange,
Where altered life, fast-following change,
Hot action, never-ceasing toil,
