No king came weeping to the
house of death; no noble _cortege_ came in sackcloth and stood as mourners
there; but the elect of God, the fruits of missionary labor on heathen
soil, the converted sons and daughters of darkness, were the sincere,
humble, faithful mourners.
They buried him in lowly pomp--_the pomp of death_. All the European
residents of the place and crowds of natives to whom he had endeared
himself followed him to his burial. They laid him down on the right side of
his first born, and returned home to weep, and many to _forget_. But there
was one who could never forget--no, never. The object of her early love
had been stricken down, and in lonely widowhood she was left to bewail
his loss. But, though cast down, she was not forsaken. The Savior was her
portion; and in this hour of trial she leaned on him. In her terrible
visitation she saw the traces of Jehovah's care; and, committing herself
and her fatherless child to him, her soul rested in hope.
During the time which elapsed between the death of Mr. Boardman and her
marriage with Dr. Judson the afflicted widow labored with all her might to
do the will of her Master.
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