thy daughter's voice
Thou'lt miss for many a year,
And the merry shout of thine elder boys
Thou'lt list in vain to hear.

* * * * *

Yet my spirit clings to thine, love,
Thy soul remains with me,
And oft we'll hold communion sweet
O'er the dark and distant sea.

And who can paint our mutual joy
When, all our wanderings o'er,
We both shall clasp our infants three
At home on Burmah's shore?

But higher shall our raptures glow
On yon celestial plain,
When the loved and parted here below
Meet, ne'er to part again.

Then gird thine armour on, love,
Nor faint thou by the way
Till Boodh shall fall, and Burmah's sons
Shall own Messiah's sway."

What a trumpet-note for a soldier to leave after nineteen years service
"through peril, toil, and pain," undaunted to the last! For by the time
the ship left the Isle of France, she was fading so rapidly that her
husband could not quit her, and sailed on with her to St. Helena. She
was fast dying, but so composed about her children, that some one
observed that she seemed to have forgotten the three babes. "Can a
mother forget?" was all her answer. She died on board the ship, at
anchor in the bay of St. Helena, and was carried to the burial-ground,
where all the colonial clergy in the island attended, and she was laid
beside Mrs. Chater, the wife of that Serampore missionary whose expulsion
had led to the first pioneering at Rangoon, and who had since worked in
Ceylon. She was just forty-two, and died September 1st, 1845.

Her husband found her beautiful farewell; and, as he copied it out, he
wrote after the last verse, "Gird thine armour on," "And so, God willing,
I will yet endeavour to do; and while her prostrate form finds repose on
the rock of the ocean, and her sanctified spirit enjoys sweeter repose on
the bosom of JESUS, let me continue to toil on all my appointed time,
until my change too shall come."

On the evening of the day of her burial, he sailed with the three
children, and arrived at Boston on the 15th of October, 1845. He
remained in his native country only nine months, and, if a universal
welcome could have delighted him, he received it to the utmost. So
little did he know of his own fame, that, returning after thirty years,
he had been in pain to know where to procure a night's lodging at Boston,
whereas he found half the city ready to compete for the honour