the truth's sake, and for your labors in the cause of Christ. We honor you as the father of American missions.

One thought pains us. To-morrow morning you will leave us. We shall see your face no more. You will soon return to Burmah, the land of your adoption. There you will continue your toils, and there, probably, be buried. But this separation is not without its solace. Thank God! it is as near from Burmah to heaven as from Richmond, or any other point on the globe. Angels, oft commissioned to convey to heaven the departing spirits of pious Burmans and Karens, have learned the way to that dark land. When dismissed from your toils and sufferings, they will be in readiness to perform the same service for you. God grant that we may all meet in that bright world. There sin shall no more annoy us, separations no more pain us, and every power find full and sweet employ in the service of Christ!

And now, my brother, I give my hand in token of our affection to you, and of your cordial reception among us.

SONNET.

THE MISSIONARY JUDSON.

REV. W. B. TAPPAN.

Burmah's Apostle! I can style no less Him who for Burmah freely yielded all Soul to sharp pangs, limbs to the fetter's thrall– Wrung for the Master with so strange distress.

Whether of joy or grief, 'twere hard to guess
Those Voices of the Past that on thee call!
For in their sweet, yet melancholy fall
Come memories of the gone that sorely press
On thy twice-smitten heart; and still inwrought
With these, sublimely soars th' extatic thought,
That Pagans in far Ava and Rangoon,

Where in wild beauty Irrawaddy flows,
By thee are dowered with the Gospel boon.
Such grief, such joy, the Missionary knows!

FAREWELL TO THE CHURCHES WITH WHICH I HAVE BEEN CONNECTED.

MRS. EMILY JUDSON.

On the second of June, 1846, the Rev. Dr. Judson was married at Hamilton, N. Y., to Miss Emily Chubbuck, a highly esteemed member of the Bethel Baptist church, Utica, a lady who had obtained considerable distinction as the authoress of several useful Sabbath-school books, and under the signature of "Fanny Forester," as a writer for some of the popular periodicals of the day. The clergyman who officiated on this occasion was the venerable Nathaniel Kendrick, D. D., for many years the president of Hamilton Literary and Theological Institution. The following beautiful and touching farewell, was written at Boston, previous to the embarkation of the missionaries.

In dissevering the various ties which bind me to the land of my birth, I find one of peculiar strength and interest. It is not easy to say farewell, when father and mother, brother and sister, and those scarce less dear, are left behind us at the word; it is not easy to break away from the sweet, simple attractions of social life, or the increasing fascinations of a world but too bright and beautiful; but there are other ties to break, other sorrowful farewells to be spoken. The parents and friends, brothers and sisters, whom Christ has given us, and who for his sake have loved us, occupy no remote corner of our hearts. Such friends of mine are, I trust, scattered over various parts of the country;

those whose prayers are at this very moment strengthening both hand and heart. Oh, I know you have prayed for me, ye whose prayers "avail much;" for, casting away my broken reed, and trusting in God only, I have been made strong.

We do not always feel the deepest love for those with whom we are visibly connected; so, though the beloved church in the village of Hamilton has never been my home, the strongest tie binding me to it is not that the names of those to whom God first gave me, are enrolled among its members. I have often worshipped there; there a resolution, a consecration of self which cost- the Omniscient only knows how great an effort—received ready encouragement and sympathy; there prayers were offered, tears wept, and blessings spoken, which I shall bear upon my heart a precious burden; and thither I shall turn for future prayers, future encouragement, and future sympathy. Oh, my eyes grow dim when I think of the loved ones, friends of Jesus, in my own dear home the beautiful village of Hamilton.

There is another church with whom I have a more intimate connection the one whose commendation I bear to a strange people in a strange land, but worshipping no strange God.

There are to me no dearer ones on earth, than a little circle at Utica, with whom I have hoped and feared, rejoiced, and wept, and prayed. God grant that I may join that same circle above! that the tremulous voice which thousands of times has borne a confession of our sins and

follies up to our Intercessor, I may hear again in songs of praise; that when the thin gray hairs are brightened, and the heavy foot made swift and light, I may return heavenly love for the counsels to which I have so often listened. I do not ask to be remembered there, for I know that parting in person cannot mar the union of spirit; and when my hand is strong, and my heart light-when Christ confers upon me any peculiar blessing, I shall think that Deacon Sheldon and those who love him and me, are praying for me.

There is another little church worshipping God quietly away in an obscure village; and with that church before all others, I claim my home. All the associations of childhood cluster there; and there still sparkles the bright waters where the revered Chinese missionary, now on his way back to the scene of his labors, administered the initiatory rite of the church, when she consented to receive the trembling, doubting child into her bosom. Oh, the church at