Hark! through the silent waste, what murmur breaks?

What scene of beauty 'mid the desert wakes?

Oh! 'tis a fountain! shading trees are there.

And their cool freshness steals out on the air!

With eager haste the fainting pilgrims rush, Where Elim's cool and sacred waters gush; p.r.o.ne on the bank, where murmuring fountains flow, Their wearied, fainting, listless forms they throw, Deep of the vivifying waters drink, Then rest in peace and coolness on the brink, While the soft zephyrs, and the fountain's flow, Breathe their sweet lullaby in cadence low.

Oh! to the way-worn pilgrim's closing eyes, How rare the beauty that about him lies!

Each leaf that quivers on the waving trees, Each wave that swells and murmurs in the breeze, Brings to his grateful heart a thrill of bliss, And wakes each nerve to life and happiness.

When day's last flush had faded from the sky, And night's calm glories rose upon the eye, Sweet hymns of rapture through the palm-trees broke, And the loud timbrels deep response awoke; Rich, full of melody the concert ran, Of praise to G.o.d, of grat.i.tude in man, While, as at intervals, the music fell, Was heard, monotonous, the fountain's swell, That in their rocky shrines, flowed murmuring there, And song and coolness shed along the air; Night mantled deeper, voices died away, The deep-toned timbrel ceased its thrilling sway; And there, beside, no other music gushing, Were heard the solitary fountains rushing, In melody their song around was shed, And lulled the sleepers on their verdant bed."

"COME OVER AND HELP US."

"Ye, on whom the glorious gospel, Shines with beams serenely bright, Pity the deluded nations, Wrapped in shades of dismal night; Ye, whose bosoms glow with rapture, At the precious hopes they bear; Ye, who know a Saviour's mercy, Listen to our earnest prayer!

See that race, deluded, blinded, Bending at yon horrid shrine; Madness pictured in their faces, Emblems of the frantic mind; They have never heard of Jesus, Never to th' Eternal prayed; Paths of death and woe they're treading, Christian! Christian! come and aid!

By that rending shriek of horror Issuing from the flaming pile, By the bursts of mirth that follow, By that Brahmin's fiend-like smile By the infant's piercing cry, Drowned in Ganges' rolling wave; By the mother's tearful eye, Friends of Jesus, come and save!

By that pilgrim, weak and h.o.a.ry, Wandering far from friends and home Vainly seeking endless glory At the false Mahomet's tomb; By that blind, derided nation, Murderers of the Son of G.o.d, Christians, grant us our pet.i.tion, Ere we lie beneath the sod!

By the Afric's hopes so wretched, Which at death's approach shall fly By the scalding tears that trickle From the slave's wild sunken eye By the terrors of that judgment, Which shall fix our final doom; Listen to our cry so earnest;-- Friends of Jesus, come, oh, come

By the martyrs' toils and sufferings, By their patience, zeal, and love; By the promise of the Mighty, Bending from His throne above; By the last command so precious, Issued by the risen G.o.d; Christians! Christians! come and help us, Ere we lie beneath the sod!"

Sarah, from her earliest years took great delight in reading. At four years, says her brother, she could read readily in any common book. Her rank in her cla.s.ses in school was always high, and her teachers felt a pleasure in instructing her. On one occasion, when about thirteen, she was compelled to signify to the princ.i.p.al of a female seminary, that her circ.u.mstances would no longer permit her to enjoy its advantages. The teacher, unwilling to lose a pupil who was an honor to the school, and who so highly appreciated its privileges, remonstrated with her upon her intention, and finally prevailed on her to remain. Soon after she commenced instructing a cla.s.s of small children, and was thus enabled to keep her situation in the seminary, without sacrificing her feelings of independence.

Her earliest journals, fragmentary as they are, disclose a zeal and ardor in self-improvement exceedingly unusual. "My mother cannot spare me to attend school this winter, but I have begun to pursue my studies at home." Again: "My parents are not in a situation to send me to school this summer, so I must make every exertion in my power to improve at home." Again, in a note to a little friend, "I feel very anxious to adopt some plan for our mutual improvement." How touching are these simple expressions! How severely do they rebuke the apathy of thousands of young persons, who allow golden opportunities of improvement to slip away from then forever--opportunities which to Sarah Hall and such as she, were of priceless value! Yet it is not one of the least of the _compensations_ with which the providence of G.o.d abounds, that the very lack of favorable circ.u.mstances is sometimes _most_ favorable to the development of latent resources. Thus it was with Sarah. Her whole career shows that her mind had been early trained and disciplined in that n.o.blest of all schools, the school of adverse fortune.

CHAPTER II.

CONVERSION.--BIAS TOWARD A MISSIONARY LIFE.--ACQUAINTANCE WITH MR.

BOARDMAN.

Amiable as she was, and conscientious in a degree not usual, Sarah knew that "yet one thing she lacked;" and this knowledge often disquieted her. But her first deep and decided convictions of sin, seem to have been produced, about the year 1820, under the preaching of Mr.

Cornelius. Her struggles of mind were fearful, and she sunk almost to the verge of despair; but hope dawned at last, and she was enabled to consecrate her whole being to the service of her Maker. She soon after united with the first Baptist church in Salem, under the care of Dr.

Bolles.

The missionary spirit was early developed in her heart. Even before her conversion, her mind was often exercised with sentiments of commiseration for the situation of ignorant heathen and idolaters; and after that event it was the leading idea of her life.

The cause of this early bias is unknown, but it was shown in her conversations, her letters and notes to friends, and in her early poetical effusions. She even tremblingly investigated her own fitness to became a vessel of mercy to the far off, perishing heathen; and then, shrinking from what seemed to her the presumptuous thought, she gave herself with new zeal to the work of benefitting these immediately around her. "Shortly after her conversion," says her brother, "she observed the dest.i.tute condition of the children in the neighborhood in which she resided. With the a.s.sistance of some young friends as teachers, she organized and continued through the favorable portions of the year, a Sunday-school, of which she a.s.sumed the responsibility of superintendent; and at the usual annual celebrations, she with her teachers and scholars joined in the exercises which accompany that festival."

"It is my ardent desire," she writes to a friend, "that the glorious work of reformation may extend till _every knee_ shall bow to the living G.o.d. For this expected, this promised era, let us pray earnestly, unceasingly, and with faith. How can I be so inactive, when I know that thousands are perishing in this land of grace; and millions in other lands are at this very moment kneeling before senseless idols!"

And in her journal--"Sinners perishing all around me, and I almost panting to tell the far _heathen_ of Christ! Surely this is wrong. I will no longer indulge the vain foolish wish, but endeavor to be useful in the position where Providence has placed me. I can _pray_ for deluded idolaters, and for those who labor among them, and this is a privilege indeed."

This strong bias of her mind toward a missionary life, was well known to her mother, who still remembers with a tender interest an incident connected with it. Sarah had been deeply affected by the death of Colman, who in the midst of his labors among the heathen, had suddenly been called to his reward. Some time afterward she returned from an evening meeting, and with a countenance radiant with joy, announced--what her pastor had mentioned in the meeting--that a successor to Colman had been found; _a young man in Maine named Boardman_ had determined to raise and bear to pagan Burmah the standard which had fallen from his dying hand. With that maternal instinct which sometimes forebodes a future calamity however improbable, her mother turned away from her daughter's joyous face, for the thought flashed involuntarily through her mind, that the young missionary would seek as a companion of his toils, a kindred spirit; and where would he find one so congenial as the lovely being before her?

Her fears were realized. Some lines written by "the enthusiastic Sarah"

on the death of Colman, met the eye of the "young man in Maine," who was touched and interested by the spirit which breathes in them, and did not rest till he had formed an acquaintance with their author. This acquaintance was followed by an engagement; and in about two years Sarah's ardent aspirations were gratified--she was a missionary to the heathen.

But we are antic.i.p.ating events; and will close this chapter with extracts from the "Lines on the death of Colman," of which we have spoken.

"'Tis the voice of deep sorrow from India's sh.o.r.e The flower of our churches is withered, is dead, The gem that shone brightly will sparkle no more, And the tears of the Christian profusely are shed Two youths of Columbia, with hearts glowing warm Embarked on the billows far distant to rove, To bear to the nations all wrapp'd in thick gloom, The lamp of the gospel--the message of love.

But Wheelock now slumbers beneath the cold wave, And Colman lies low in the dark cheerless grave.

Mourn, daughters of India, mourn!

The rays of that star, clear and bright, That so sweetly on Arracan shone Are shrouded in black clouds of night, For Colman is gone!

Oh Colman! thy father weeps not o'er thy grave; Thy heart riven mother ne'er sighs o'er thy dust; But the long Indian gra.s.s o'er thy far tomb shall wave, And the drops of the evening descend on the just.

Cold, silent and dark is thy narrow abode-- But not long wilt thou sleep in that dwelling of gloom, For soon shall be heard the great trump of our G.o.d To summon all nations to hear their last doom; A garland of amaranth then shall be thine, And thy name on the martyrs' bright register shine.

O what glory will burst on thy view When are placed by the Judge of the earth, The flowers that in India grew By thy care, in the never-pale wreath Encircling thy brow!

CHAPTER III.

ACCOUNT OF GEORGE DANA BOARDMAN.

We need offer no apology for turning aside from the immediate subject of our narrative, in order to introduce to our readers one, who must henceforth share with her our sympathy and our affection; we mean George Dana Boardman--the successor to Colman spoken of in the last chapter.

He was the son of a Baptist clergyman in Livermore, Maine, and was born in 1801. Though feeble in body, he had an ardent thirst for knowledge, which often made him conceal illness for fear of being detained from school. At a suitable age, he was sent to an academy in North Yarmouth, where he became distinguished for ardor in the pursuit of learning, and fine mental powers. It is related, that he went through the Latin grammar with surprising rapidity, and then expected to be allowed to use the Lexicon, but was told he must go through the grammar once or twice more. Disappointed, he returned to his seat, and in an hour or two was called up to recite, when he repeated verbatim sixteen pages of the grammar. His preceptor inquired if he had got more; he answered yes; and on being asked how much, replied, "I can recite the whole book, sir, if you wish!" He afterwards manifested equal power in mathematics. At sixteen, he engaged in school-teaching, in order to obtain means for a collegiate course--the great object of his ambition--and in this employment he manifested a knowledge of human nature and of the influences which control it, truly wonderful. The most turbulent and disorderly schools, became, in his hands, models of system and regularity.

In 1819, when 18 years old, he entered Waterville College, Maine. He was at this time a youth of good principles, inflexible purpose, strong affections, and independent opinions, but had hitherto given no evidence of piety. "But in this inst.i.tution his thoughts were directed by a variety of circ.u.mstances, to a consideration of the vast and important topics of evangelical religion. His room-mate was a very pious and most warm-hearted man. The officers of the college did all in their power to elevate his thoughts and affections. In short, every external influence with which a young man could be surrounded, was calculated to lead his mind heavenward. Under the operation of these causes, he was by the Spirit of G.o.d, induced to consecrate himself, soul, body, and spirit, to religion; and in 1820, he made a public profession of his belief and was baptized."[5]

From his letters and journals, we find that he soon turned his thoughts to the subject of missions. "In the winter of 1820," he says, "the thought occurred to me that I could take my Bible, and travel through new settlements where the Gospel was seldom or never heard, and _without sustaining the name of a preacher_, could visit from hut to hut, and tell the story of Jesus' dying love. Then in imagination, I could welcome fatigue, hunger, cold, solitude, sickness and death, if I could only win a few cottagers to my beloved Saviour."

When the news of the death of Mr. Judson's fellow missionary, Colman, reached America, his soul was filled with desire to supply the place of that beloved laborer in the Burman field. Still his chief aim was to leave the _place_ of his labors entirely to the guidance of Providence.

On graduating at college, he accepted the office of tutor in it for one year, and so great was the promise of his future eminence, that the good president predicted that he would, at a future day, preside over the inst.i.tution. But his heart was fixed on other labor, and as soon as his engagement was completed, he hastened to offer his services to the Board of Foreign Missions, and was at once accepted as a missionary.

The parting scene between Boardman and his religious friends in Waterville, who had a.s.sembled to bid him farewell is said by one present on that occasion, to have been exceedingly touching. "The eye of Boardman was alone undimmed by a tear. In a tender and yet unfaltering tone he addressed a few words to his brethren. We all knelt down in prayer together for the last time. On arising, Boardman pa.s.sed round the room, and gave to each his hand for the last time. His countenance was serene, his mild blue eye beamed with benignity, and though there was in his manner a tenderness which showed he had a heart to feel, yet there was no visible emotion till he came to his room-mate. As he took _him_ by the hand, his whole frame became convulsed, his eye filled, and the tears fell fast, as if all the tender feelings of his spirit, till now imprisoned, had at this moment broken forth--'farewell!' he faltered; and then smiling through his tears, said, as he left the room, 'we shall meet again in Heaven.'"

He had expected immediately to leave America for Burmah, in the same ship which was to take Mrs. Judson back to that country, but the Board decided to detain him some time in this country for further preparation.

In June, 1823, he entered on theological studies in the seminary at Andover, and employed all his leisure hours in reading those books in the library which treated of the manners, customs, and religions of heathen countries.

In the spring of 1825 he was called to bid his country farewell. Natural affection was strong, but the call of duty was stronger still. In a letter he says, "If tenderness of feeling--if ardor of affection--if attachment to friends, to Christian society and Christian privileges--if apprehension of toil and danger in a missionary life--if an overwhelming sense of responsibility could detain me in America, I should never go to Burmah." And in his journal--"Welcome separations and farewells; welcome tears; welcome last sad embraces; welcome pangs and griefs; only let me go where my Saviour calls and goes himself; welcome toils, disappointments, fatigues and sorrows; WELCOME AN EARLY GRAVE!"

It is easy to imagine that the sympathy and affection between two souls const.i.tuted like Miss Hall's and Mr. Boardman's, both of whom were warmed by the same zeal for the cause of Christ and the welfare of the heathen, would be unusually strong; and indeed there is every evidence, that from the time they became fully acquainted, the most tender attachment subsisted between them. "You know," she wrote long afterward to her mother, "how tenderly I loved him;" and to an intimate friend, he said in a private conversation, "It was not the superiority of her personal charms, though these were by no means small, but it was her intrinsic excellence, heightened by her modest, un.o.btrusive spirit, that endeared her to my heart."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: North American Review.]