The Christian Missionary

How love­ly are the sil­ver rills

That down the mount­ain glide;

How soft the dew on Zi­on’s hills

And Her­mon’s lof­ti­er side.

But soft­er than the drops of dew

Than sil­ver rills more fair

Is Gos­pel light

re­vealed to view

In re­gions lone and bare.

What though in earth­en vess­els borne

Yet glo­ri­ous ’tis to pour

Instruction

like the beams of morn

On na­tions dark be­fore.

So full of en­er­gy di­vine

The Lord’s en­light­en­ing Word

Can make the cheer­less de­sert shine

A gar­den of the Lord.

What though the mes­sen­ger be weak;

E’en an­gels might re­joice

To speak the words that he shall speak

Or list­en to his voice:

When in a lone and sav­age place

Some hu­man foot­prints say

“Pur­sue

thou min­is­ter of grace

Thy heav’n­ly Mas­ter’s way.

“Go

find the lost

that they may live;

The wan­der­ers bring again;

Nor seek

in what our hands can give

Rewards for half thy pain.

“In yon­der tent a har­dy race

Invites the Shep­herd’s care

To lead them to the throne of grace

In pe­ni­tence and pray­er.

“Soon by those wild and sim­ple ones

Shall pi­ous hymns be sung

And they shall breathe in Christ­ian tones

Their own

their na­tive tongue.

“And hap­py thou

when life is past

And all is peace and rest

Should they

through thee

have learned at last

The lang­uage of the blest!

“Thy fare is coarse

thy couch is hard

And thorns thy path at­tend;

But think up­on the great re­ward

That crowns thy jour­ney’s end.

In all the scenes of life’s al­loy

Be this thy soul’s re­lief;

Thy Mas­ter went not up to joy

But first He suf­fered grief.