Memoir of Sarah B. Judson of the American Mission to Burmah

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Sheldon & Company, 1872 - Missions - 309 pages

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Page 22 - Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, While the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, When thou shall say, I have no pleasure in them...
Page 135 - And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart Be resolute and calm. O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.
Page 210 - I have ever known in my own long life, it could be said that none knew her but to love her, none named her but to praise.
Page 216 - Her suffering ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close. And breathed the long, long night away In statue-like repose ; " ' But when the sun in all his state Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through Glory's morning gate, And walked in paradise.
Page 70 - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Page 131 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling— rejoicing —sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Page 220 - Now, each must weep alone. My tears fall fast for thee, Love, — How can I say farewell ? But go ;— thy God be with thee, Love, Thy heart's deep grief to quell ! Yet my spirit clings to thine, Love, Thy soul remains with me, And oft we'll hold communion sweet, O'er tho dark and distant sea.
Page 121 - In a few moments he said to me, ' Since you spoke to me about George, I have .prayed for him almost incessantly—- more than in all my life before/ " It drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat.
Page 27 - Ganges' rolling wave; By the mother's tearful eye, Friends of Jesus, come and save! By that pilgrim, weak and hoary, Wandering far from friends and home Vainly seeking endless glory At the false Mahomet's tomb; By that blind, derided nation, Murderers of the Son of God, Christians, grant us our petition, Ere we lie beneath the sod! By the Afric's hopes so wretched, Which at death's approach shall fly By the scalding tears that trickle From the slave's wild sunken...

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