he "Lone Star" mission in India was in danger of being abandoned
because of lack of funds, Smith did much to save it by writing a poem
with the title, "Lone Star." Another missionary hymn by him begins with
the line, "Onward speed thy conquering flight." However, it does not
attain to the poetic heights of "The morning light is breaking," which
has been compared to Heber's "From Greenland's icy mountains" in
spiritual fervor and literary merit.

Another interesting hymn written by Smith during his student days is
called "The Missionary's Farewell." The first stanza reads:

Yes, my native land, I love thee;
All thy scenes, I love them well;
Friends, connections, happy country,
Can I bid you all farewell?
Can I leave you,
Far in heathen lands to dwell?

Although Dr. Smith never carried out his earlier resolve to become a
missionary, he visited many foreign fields and had the satisfaction of
hearing his own hymns sung in many tongues. Referring to "The morning
light is breaking," he once wrote:

"It has been a great favorite at missionary gatherings, and I have myself
heard it sung in five or six different languages in Europe and Asia. It
is a favorite with the Burmans, Karens and Telugus in Asia, from whose
lips I have heard it repeatedly."

A son of the distinguished hymn-writer became a missionary to the
Burmans.

Dr. Smith filled many important pulpits in New England during his long
and illustrious career. At one time he was a professor in modern
languages. He was an unusual linguist, being familiar with fifteen
tongues. In 1894, a year before his death, he was still vigorous in mind
and body, writing and preaching, although he was eighty-six years old. It
was in this year that he was found looking around for a textbook that
would enable him to begin the study of Russian. It was in this year, too,
that he wrote one of his finest hymns, for a church dedication.

Founded on Thee, our only Lord,
On Thee, the everlasting Rock,
Thy Church shall stand as stands Thy Word,
Nor fear the storm, nor dread the shock.

For Thee our waiting spirits yearn,
For Thee this house of praise we rear;
To Thee with longing hearts we turn;
Come, fix Thy glorious presence here.

Come, with Thy Spirit and Thy power,
The Conqueror, once the Crucified;
Our God, our Strength, our King, our Tower,
Here plant Thy throne, and here abide.