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To My Missionary Friends, Mr. And Mrs. I.G. Bliss.
By Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow
Why, dear friends, oh! tell us wherefore
You're so anxious to be gone;
Is the country late adopted
Dearer to you than your own?
Have you found a father, mother,
In that distant clime to love,
Or a sister, friend, or brother,
Better than the long-tried prove?
"Oh, no! believe us, no such motives
Prompt us to tempt old ocean's wave;
We go among the poor benighted,
Perhaps to find an early grave.
"Ah! you know not half our anguish -
Only those who feel can tell -
When we think of the sad parting,
And that solemn word - farewell.
"But while lingering, souls are dying,
Souls that Jesus came to save;
And of such a priceless value,
That for them his life he gave.
"Trials great no doubt await us
In that distant home of ours;
Work requiring so much labor,
As to exceed our utmost powers.
"But He who said 'Go preach the gospel,'
All powerful is, to aid, defend;
'Lo I am with you always,' said he,
'And will be even to the end.'
"With such command, and such a promise,
Sure our path of duty's plain;
Do not then, dear friends, persuade us
Longer with thee to remain."
Go then, go! we'll not detain you,
We dare not ask your longer stay;
And may winds and waves of ocean,
Waft you safely on your way.
They who all forsake for Jesus,
Father, mother, country, home,
Here an hundred fold are promised,
And eternal life to come.
Go then, go! but when far distant,
Bear us sometimes on your mind;
When for others interceding,
Forget not those you leave behind.
And when your earthly warfare's ended,
And you have laid your armor down,
May souls of poor benighted Asia
Add many stars to your bright crown.
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