Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Farewell of a Missionary to Africa, at the Grave of his Wife and Child

by Lydia Huntley Sigourney

FAREWELL OF A MISSIONARY TO AFRICA, AT THE GRAVE OF HIS WIFE AND CHILD.

Once more, 'neath Autumn's moaning blast,
    I seek thy narrow bed,
And is this gush of tears the last,
    I o'er this turf must shed?
Seasons may change, and years depart,
    Yet none shall here recline
To twine thy memory round his heart
    With such a love as mine.

Bound to a dark and heathen clime
    For my Redeemer's sake,
What tides of sympathy sublime
    At thy loved image wake.
Thy tender care, thy fearless trust,
    Thy fond, confiding tone,—
Yet what avails,—since thou art dust,
    And I am all alone.

There too, sweet infant, slumbering nigh,
    How beautiful wert thou,
Thy mother's spirit in thine eye,
    Her smile upon thy brow,
A little while, thy rose-bud light
    On my lone path was shed,
A little while,—there came a blight,
    And thou art of the dead.

I go,—my best beloved,—farewell!
    Borne o'er the faithless sea,
When the wild waves like mountains swell,
    I will remember thee:
Thy meekness, 'mid affliction's strife,
    Thy lifted glance of prayer,
Thy firmness 'neath the storms of life
    Shall be my pattern there.

And when on Afric's bleeding breast,
    The scorned of every shore,
The chained, the trampled, the opprest,
    Salvation's balm I pour,
Thy zeal, that for a Saviour's name
    Beamed forth with cloudless ray,
Like ancient Israel's pillared flame
    Shall cheer my pilgrim way.

If toiling 'mid that sultry glade
    The Spoiler's call I hear,
Or 'neath the palm-tree's murmuring shade
    It warns my willing ear,
Then may the faith that fired thine eye,
    'Mid pangs untold and strong,
My dying pillow hover nigh,
    And wake the triumph-song.