We not unfrequently behold the most lovely exhibitions of piety in
Christian communities. We see religion doing its holy work in the lives of
its professors; we contemplate instances of piety and devotion which seem
to be more of heaven than earth; but never can be witnessed in Christian
lands those sublime trophies of godliness which we find on shores which are
covered with heathen abomination. We must leave home, we must cross the
ocean, we must follow Harriet Newell through all her sufferings, until she
finds an early grave. We must follow Ann H. Judson to the dungeons of Ava,
to the damp, cold prisons of the East, to her home of suffering and
death. We must trace the course of Miss Macomber from Maulmain to her
new residence at Dong-Yahn; we must see her on her excursions into the
surrounding province, and listen to her teachings as around her a rude
group gather to hear of Jesus.
Here is piety in its most lovely form. Here is godliness in its most divine
attire. Here is pure religion, which is undefiled before God. In these
cases we see what cannot be witnessed at home, and what thousands of pious
women would shrink from as impracticable and impossible.
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