field upon which they had resolved. The PILLAR OF A CLOUD was lifted up and it pointed in another direction. God had work for them to

do in Burmah; and he hedged up their way that they could enter no other field. A vessel was found at Madras, which was to sail in a few days for Rangoon, one of the principal ports in the Burman empire. There appeared no other way of escape; and they resolved to cast themselves upon the protection of Jehovah, and to sail for Burmah.

There seemed to be a foreboding of the trials that awaited them, if not of the triumphs they were to achieve, as they contemplated the prospect of entering upon this rugged and forbidding field. "We have at last concluded, in our distress," says Mrs. J., "to go to Rangoon, as there is no vessel about to sail for any other place, ere it will be too late to escape a second arrest. O, our heavenly Father, direct us aright! Where wilt Thou have us go? What wilt Thou have us do? Our only hope is in thee; and to Thee alone we look for protection. O, let this mission yet live before Thee, notwithstanding all opposition; and be instrumental of winning souls to Jesus in some heathen land. Though our trials may be great, and our privations many and severe, yet the

presence of Jesus can make us happy; and the consciousness that we have sacrificed all for His dear cause, and are endeavoring to labor for the salvation of immortal souls, will enable us to bear our privations and trials with some degree of satisfaction and delight. The poor Burmans are entirely destitute of those consolations and joys which constitute our happiness; and why should we be unwilling to part with a few fleeting, inconsiderable comforts, for the sake of making them sharers with us in joys exalted as heaven, durable as eternity! We cannot expect to do much, in such a rough, uncultivated field; yet if we may be instrumental in removing some of the rubbish, and preparing the way for others, it will be a sufficient reward. I have been accustomed to view this field of labor with dread and terror; but I now feel perfectly willing to make it my home the rest of my life. Adieu to polished, refined Christian society. Our lot is not cast among you, but among Pagans, among barbarians, whose tender mercies are cruel. Indeed, we voluntarily forsake you, and for Jesus' sake, choose the latter for our associates. O, may we be prepared for the pure and polished society of heaven, composed of the followers of the

*

Lamb, whose robes have been washed in his blood."

At length, on the 15th of July, 1813, about seventeen months from the time of their sailing from America, the missionaries landed at Rangoon, the very spot to which their attention had first been called, after having been tossed about, from place to place, for more than a year since their arrival in India.

Thus far had the CLOUDY PILLAR gone before them in the way, and here it rested. "And they will tell it to the inhabitants of this land; * that thy cloud standeth over them, and thou goest before them; by day-time in a pillar of cloud, and in a pillar of fire by night." * "Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving kindness of the Lord."

"Since all the varying scenes of time

God's watchful eye surveys,

O, who so wise to choose our lot,

Or to appoint our ways.

Good when he gives, - supremely good,

Nor less when he denies;

E'en crosses from his sovereign hand,

Are blessings in disguise."

"IT IS I, BE NOT AFRAID."

When the storm on the mountains of Galilee fell, And lifted its waters on high;

And the faithless disciples were bound in the spell Of mysterious alarm, — their terrors to quell, Jesus whispered, "Fear not, it is I."

The storm could not bury that word in the wave,
For 'twas taught through the tempest to fly :
It shall reach his disciples in every clime,

And his voice shall be near in each troublous time,
Saying, "Be not afraid, it is I."

When the spirit is broken with sickness or sorrow, And comfort is ready to die;

The darkness shall pass, and in gladness to-morrow, The wounded complete consolation shall borrow From His life-giving word, "It is I."

When death is at hand, and the cottage of clay

Is left with a tremulous sigh,

The gracious forerunner is smoothing the way
For its tenant to pass to unchangeable day,
Saying, "Be not afraid, it is I.”

When the waters are passed, and the glories unknown Burst forth on the wondering eye,

The compassionate "Lamb in the midst of the throne," Shall welcome, encourage, and comfort his own,

And say,

"Be not afraid, it is I."

ANON.

THE HEATHEN'S CRY.

REV. AMOS SUTTON.

Hark! what cry arrests my ear?
Hark! what accents of despair!
"Tis the heathen's dying prayer;
Friends of Jesus, hear.

Men of God, to you we cry,
Rests on you our tearful eye;
Help us, Christians, or we die,
Die in dark despair!

Hasten, Christians, haste to save,
O'er the land and o'er the wave,
Dangers, death, and distance brave:
Hark! for help they call.

Afric bends her suppliant knee,

Asia spreads her hand to thee,

Hark! they urge the heaven-born plea, Jesus died for all.

Haste, then, spread the Saviour's name, Snatch the firebrands from the flame,

Deck his glorious diadem

With their ransomed souls.

See! the Pagan altars fall,

See! the Saviour reigns o'er all!

Crown him! crown him Lord of all!

Echoes round the poles.