Who the writer was he did
not know, but determined to discover, if possible, what heart kept time
with the wild beatings of his own. The first verse of that poem runs as
follows:--
"'Tis the voice of deep sorrow from India's shore;
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 wrapped in thick gloom
The lamp of the gospel--the message of love.
But Wheelook now slumbers beneath the cold wave;
And Coleman lies low in the dank, cheerless grave:
Mourn, daughters of Arracan, mourn!
The rays of that star, clear and bright,
That so sweetly on Chittagong shone,
Are shrouded in black clouds of night;
For Coleman is gone!"
Mr. Boardman at once determined to discover the writer of these thrilling
lines, and in a short time was enabled to trace them to the pen of Miss
Hall. Ere he had seen her who was to be the companion of his arduous
labors, the sharer of his success, and the attendant of his dying bed, he
seems to have sought for the youthful authoress with a kind of intuition
that God had fitted her to be his companion.
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