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Poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon


The Missionarys Wife


Not through the quiet shadows of our vale
    Have I pursued thy paththy Gods and thine;
Not where the violet rises on the gale
    Not where the green fields in the summer shine.

White was our little dwelling, and around
    Were kindred, ancient friends, and countrymen;
Not often did it know a ruder sound
    Than when the childlike brook laughed through the glen.

We left our country, and we left our home,
    For other stranger lands beyond the sea,
Thou, at the bidding of thy God, to roam,
    Strong in thy faithand I to follow thee.

The wild woods heard our voices, and the name
    Of the Redeemer, till that hour unknown-
Praises and prayers amid the desert came,
    Stirring its depths with their eternal tone.

Men who till then had never known the voice
    Which murmured at their hearts of awe and fear,
Now knew it called upon them to rejoice,
    And felt the presence of their God was near.

Has not the rosy morning heard our hymn,
    Heralding in the labours of the day?
And when the twilights purple shades were dim
    Our tasks were closed with words that praise and pray.

Be this the omen of all coming time,
    So spread Thy word from rise to set of sun
Till the one God be known from clime to clime,
    And the great work of Christian love be done.



Letitia Elizabeth Landon


Letitia Elizabeth Landon's other poems:
  1. Amelioration and the Future, Man's Noble Tasks
  2. The Tournament
  3. The Nameless Grave
  4. Fragment (It is not spring, but still the new-come year)
  5. Windleshaw Abbey, or, The Funeral


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