Chapter XI (3)

“There are periods in the lives of men who experience much change of
scene and variety of adventure, when they seem to themselves to be
subject to some supernatural illusion, or wild, magical dream; when
they are ready, amid the whirl of conflicting recollection, to doubt
their own personal identity, and, like steersmen in a storm, feel that
they must keep a steady eye to the compass and a strong arm at the
wheel. The scene spread out before me seems, on retrospection, to be
identified with the past, and at the same time to be reaching forward
and foreshadowing the future. At one moment the lapse of thirty-four
years is annihilated; the scenes of 1812 are again present; and this
assembly—how like that which commended me to God on first leaving my
native shores for the distant East! But, as I look around, where are
the well-known faces of Spring, and Worcester, and Dwight? Where are
Lyman, and Huntington, and Griffin? And where are those leaders of the
baptized ranks who stretched out their arms across the water, and
received me into their communion? Where are Baldwin and Bolles? Where
Holcombe, and Rogers, and Staughton? I see them not. I have been to
their temples of worship, but their voices have passed away. And where
are my early missionary associates, Newell, and Hall, and Rice, and
Richards, and Mills? But why inquire for those so ancient? Where are
the succeeding laborers in the missionary field for many years, and
the intervening generation who sustained the missions? And where are
those who moved amid the dark scenes of Rangoon, and Ava, and Tavoy?
Where those gentle, yet firm spirits, which tenanted forms—delicate in
structure, but careless of the storm—now broken, and scattered, and
strewn, like the leaves of autumn, under the shadow of overhanging
trees, and on remote islands of the sea?

“No, these are not the scenes of 1812; nor is this the assembly that
convened in the Tabernacle of a neighboring city. Many years have
elapsed; many venerated, many beloved ones have passed away to be seen
no more. ‘They rest from their labors, and their works do follow
them.’ And with what words shall I address those who have taken their
places, the successors of the venerated and the beloved, the
generation of 1812?

“In that year American Christians pledged themselves to the work of
evangelizing the world. They had but little to rest on, except the
command and promise of God. The attempts then made by British
Christians had not been attended with so much success as to establish
the practicability, or vindicate the wisdom of the missionary
enterprise. For many years the work advanced but slowly. One
denomination after another embarked in the undertaking; and now
American missionaries are seen in almost every clime. Many languages
have been acquired; many translations of the Bible have been made; the
Gospel has been extensively preached; and churches have been
established containing thousands of sincere, intelligent converts. The
obligation, therefore, on the present generation, to redeem the pledge
given by their fathers, is greatly enhanced. And it is an animating
consideration, that, with the enhancement of the obligation, the
encouragement to persevere in the work, and to make still greater
efforts, is increasing from year to year. Judging from the past, what
may we rationally expect during the lapse of another thirty or forty
years? Look forward with the eye of faith. See the missionary spirit
universally diffused, and in active operation throughout this country;
every church sustaining, not only its own minister, but, through some
general organization, its own missionary in a foreign land. See the
Bible faithfully translated into all languages; the rays of the lamp
of heaven transmitted through every medium, and illuminating all
lands. See the Sabbath spreading its holy calm over the face of the
earth, the churches of Zion assembling, and the praises of Jesus
resounding from shore to shore; and, though the great majority may
still remain, as now in this Christian country, without hope and
without God in the world, yet the barriers in the way of the descent
and operations of the Holy Spirit removed, so that revivals of
religion become more constant and more powerful.

“The world is yet in its infancy; the gracious designs of God are yet
hardly developed. Glorious things are spoken of Zion, the city of our
God. She is yet to triumph, and become the joy and glory of the whole
earth. Blessed be God that we live in these latter times—the latter
times of the reign of darkness and imposture. Great is our privilege,
precious our opportunity, to co-operate with the Saviour in the
blessed work of enlarging and establishing His kingdom throughout the
world. Most precious the opportunity of becoming wise, in turning many
to righteousness, and of shining, at last, as the brightness of the
firmament, and as the stars, forever and ever.

“Let us not, then, regret the loss of those who have gone before us,
and are waiting to welcome us home, nor shrink from the summons that
must call us thither. Let us only resolve to follow them who, through
faith and patience, inherit the promises. Let us so employ the remnant
of life, and so pass away, that our successors will say of us, as we
of our predecessors, ‘Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord. They
rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.’”

At Boston, July 11, 1846, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, in company with the newly-appointed missionaries, Miss Lillybridge, the Beechers, and the Harrises, embarked on the _Faneuil Hall_, Captain Hallett, bound for Maulmain. Many friends mingled in that farewell scene. He was leaving behind him fragrant memories. In many a household his prayers are cherished as a “precious benediction.” He had been entertained in the house of his friend, Gardner Colby, of Boston, and at the family altar he thus prayed for the family of his host: “May they, and their children, and their children’s children, in every generation to the end of time, follow each other in uninterrupted succession through the gates of glory,”[66] a prayer that has borne fruitage from that time until now. The Colbys came to the ship to bid him good-bye, and the Lincolns, and the Gillettes, and Mrs. Judson’s bosom friend, Miss Anna Maria Anable, with, among others, and dearer than all the rest, a slender youth of eighteen, the child of her who had been laid at rest at St. Helena, George Dana Boardman. But how, even at that hour, Mrs. Judson’s thoughts must have wandered again and again to the humble roof at Hamilton, beneath which her aged parents were commending their departing daughter to the heavenly Father’s merciful care!

_To my Father._

“A welcome for thy child, father,
A welcome give to-day;
Although she may not come to thee
As when she went away;
Though never in her olden nest
Is she to fold her wing,
And live again the days when first
She learned to fly and sing.

“Oh, happy were those days, father,
When gathering round thy knee,
Seven sons and daughters called thee sire—
We come again but three;
The grave has claimed thy loveliest ones,
And sterner things than death
Have left a shadow on thy brow,
A sigh upon thy breath.

“And one—one of the three, father,
Now comes to thee to claim
Thy blessing on another lot,
Upon another name.
Where tropic suns forever burn,
Far over land and wave,
The child, whom thou hast loved, would make
Her hearthstone and her grave.

“Thou’lt never wait again, father,
Thy daughter’s coming tread;
She ne’er will see thy face on earth—
So count her with thy dead;
But in the land of life and love,
Not sorrowing as now,
She’ll come to thee, and come, perchance,
With jewels on her brow.

“_Perchance_;—I do not know, father,
If any part be given
My erring hand, among the guides
Who point the way to heaven;
But it would be a joy untold
Some erring foot to stay;
Remember this, when, gathering round,
Ye for the exile pray.

“Let nothing here be changed, father,
I would remember all,
Where every ray of sunshine rests,
And where the shadows fall.
And now I go; with faltering foot
I pass the threshold o’er.
And gaze, through tears, on that dear roof,
My shelter nevermore.”

-----

Footnote 58:

Died in infancy.

Footnote 59:

See Map II.

Footnote 60:

In public speech.

Footnote 61:

By H. S. Washburn, Boston.

Footnote 62:

Mr. Thomas Nickerson, of Newton Centre.

Footnote 63:

I am indebted for this reminiscence to Mr. H. S. Washburn, of Boston.

Footnote 64:

The road has since been changed and now passes below the house.

Footnote 65:

The reader is referred to Dr. Kendrick’s Memoir of Mrs. E. C. Judson.

Footnote 66:

See the graceful sketch of “The Life and Character of Gardner Colby,”
by his son, the Rev. Henry F. Colby.