Cup of Trembling

"Afar we stand, a gloomy band,
Our worth, our wants neglected,
The children in their fatherland
Cut off, despised, rejected."

Allow me to say to the reader, that the cup I now hold in my hand is a "cup of trembling," and gladly would my sickening heart turn away from its contents, "but 'for this cause was I sent,' and the cup which my Father has given me shall I not drink it?" Yes, for this cause was I sent, for this cause, in the face of all that was thought consistency or prudence, unprotected by mortal arm or encouraged by mortal support, was I bidden to go out, and to go "nothing doubting" into a strange land, and there do what I should be bidden, not knowing what that might be nor inquiring wherefore the work were laid upon me.

I came, the island was traversed, stormy days and dark nights, filthy cabins and uncomfortable lodging-houses were my lot, evil surmises from the proud professor, and the cold neglect of many, were all alike to me; the "tower" into which I ran was always safe and always open, the "rock" under which I sheltered was indeed "higher than I," and the tempest passed harmlessly by.