DEPARTURE OF THE MISSIONARIES.
The Missionaries destined to the Tamul Mission, consisting of Rev. Miron Winslow,
and the Rev. Robert O. Dwight, of Northampton, with their wives, and the Rev.
James McEwen, the Rev. James R. Campbell, and Messrs. William S. Rogers, Jesse
S. Jamaison, and Joseph Porter, with their wives, destined to Northern India,
sailed from Philadelphia, on the 17th ult. in the ship Charles Wharton, a commodious
vessel commanded by Capt. Dolby. Rev. Mr. Winslow is returning to the field
in which he has already spent 15 years. The services preparatory to the embarkation
were held in the Presbyterian Church on Sunday, the day previous.- The house
was excessively crowded, and the services impressive.
The vessel is to touch at Madras, and there leave the brethren of the Tamul
mission, and then will proceed with the others to Calcutta.
The following stanzas, from the pen of Rev. Mr. Tappan, were sent to the ship
on Tuesday morning:-
THE CHARLES WHARTON
That Ship! that Ship! why on her way
doth thought so fondly linger still?
High o'er the bow the surges play,
Her sails the urging breezes fill-
She pushes nobly through the foam;
That Ship! that Ship! why cluster there
Remembrances of love and home,
And early joys, and hours of prayer?
That Ship! that Ship! she hath with her
Hearts strongly linked with our heart;
Names that awake its kindly stir-
GOD speed them!- yet 'twas hard to part.
She hath with her our cherished child-
A brother, sister treads her deck;
Part of ourselves are on the wild
Wide waves, the field of many a wreck.
Their gaze! their gaze! we see it yet-
What years were in that earnest look'
The expression we may not forget,
As eye from eye the farewell took.
'Twas something of Earth's love, but much
Of heaven lit up each beaming fact;
'Twas sweetly solemn- only such
As speaks unwonted, inward grace.
That Ship! she left us yesterday,-
Our words were few, but tears were given;
Last sobs, last looks,- she's on her way,
And we have left them all with Heaven!
The sea reflects her silver track,
Our steps to silent home are bent;
We would not, dare not beckon back
The messengers that GOD hath sent.
That Ship! that Ship! what teeming clouds
Of blessings wrap her as she sails!
What suppliance follows as she crowds
Her canvas to propitious gales!
That beautifully may be found
Glad feet on many an idol hill;
'Till Sharon's roses cheer that ground,
And streams of Life those valleys fill.
Tuesday morning, Nov. 17, 1835.