The Martyred Missionary

The Martyred Missionary

"Not by the lion's paw, the serpent's tooth,

By sudden sun-stroke, or by slow decay,

War, famine, plague, meek messenger of truth,

Wert thou arrested on thy pilgrim way.

"The sultry whirlwind spared thee in its wrath;

The lightning flashed before thee and passed by;

The brooding earthquake paused beneath thy path;

The mountain torrent shunn'd thee, or ran dry.

"Thy march was through the savage wilderness;

Thine errand thither, like thy blessed Lord's,

To seek and save the lost, to heal and bless

Its blind and lame, diseased, and dying hordes.

"How did the love of Christ, that like a chain,

Drew Christ himself to Bethlehem, from his throne,

And bound him to the cross, thine heart constrain,

Thy melting heart, to make that true love known.

"But not to build, was thine appointed part,

Temple where temple never stood before;

Yet was it well the thought was in thine heart,

Thou know'st it now, the Lord required no more.

"The wings of darkness round thy tent were spread,

The wild beast's howling broke not thy repose;

The silent stars were watching overhead:

Thy friends were nigh thee - nigh thee were thy foes.

"The sun went down upon thine evening prayer,

He rose upon thy finished sacrifice;

The house of God, the gate of heaven was there,

Angels and friends had fixed on thee their eyes.

"At midnight, in a moment, open stood

Th' eternal doors, to give thy spirit room;

At morn, the earth had drunk thy guiltless blood -

But where, on earth, may now be found thy tomb?

"At rest beneath the ever-shifting sand,

This thine unsculptured epitaph remain,

Till the last trump shall summon sea and land,

'To me to live was Christ, to die was gain.'

"And must, with thee, thy slain companions lie,

Unmourned, unsung, forgotten, where they fell?

O for the power, the spirit of prophecy,

Their life, their death, the fruits of both to tell!

They took the cross, beneath it they lay down,

Woke, and the cross was changed into the crown.

"O'er their last relics, on the spot where gult

Slew sleeping innocence, and hid the crime,

A church of Christ, amidst the deserts built,

May gather converts to the end of time:

And there with them, their kindred dust to dust,

Await the resurrection of the just."

James Montgomery, Esq.

New Series 1:36, p. 4

1840.11.07

James Montgomery, Esq., the English Poet, presided at the late annual meeting of the Sheffield Wesleyan Missionary Society. He remarked, that at the present time, all the friends of missions were deeply affected by a mournful circumstance in relation to an individual connected with one branch of the Universal Missionary Society, who had done more to call the attention of Christendom to the objects and results of the missionary enterprise, than any other man. Mr. Williams, said he, had been barbarously murdered by the savage natives of an island to which he was anxious to give the word of life; they had slain, indeed, the greatest benefactor of their island which their eyes had ever seen. In like manner, the first missionaries who went to Labrador were seized and murdered; but the cause survived the fall of the first preachers, and had triumphed over the prejudices of the natives. He then adverted to the murder of a zealous missionary of their own, in the wilds of Africa. The Rev. Barnabas Shaw, "the Apostle of Africa," had sent to him, Mr. M., one of the chapters of a work descriptive of the scenes and results of his labors, containing an account the violent death of the Rev. W. Threllfall, and of the native converts, his companions, in Namacqualand, and requesting him to give a condensed sketch, in metre, commemorative of that fatal event. He had attempted the task; and, with the leave of the meeting, he would read them what he had written. Mr. Montgomery then recited, with much feeling, the following exquisite stanzas, composed in the circumstances, and on the subject alluded to: -