Chapter LXVII

“‘Thou art to voyage an unexploréd flood,
No chart is there thy lonely bark to steer;
Beneath her rocks, around her tempests rude,
And persecution’s billows in her rear,
Shall shake thy soul till it is near subdued;
But when the welcome of _Whatcheer! Whatcheer!_
Shall greet thine ears from Indian multitude,
Cast thou the Anchor there, and trust in God.’