Strait he pull'd me from the shore,
Bid me no self-murder do;
Talk'd of state when life is o'er,
All from Bible good and true.
Then he led me to his cot,
Sooth'd and pitied all my woe
Told me 'twas the Christian's lot,
Much to suffer here below.
Told me then of God's dear, Son,
(Strange and wond'rous is the story)
What sad wrong to him was done,
Tho' he was the Lord of Glory.
Told, me too, like one who knew him,
(Can such love as this be true?)
How he died for them that slew him,
Died for wretched Yamba too.
Freely he his mercy proffer'd,
And to Sinners he was sent!
E'en to Massa pardon's offer'd;
O, if Massa would repent!
Wicked deed full many a time,
Sinful Yamba too hath done;
But she wails to God her crime,
But she trusts his only Son.
O, ye slaves whom Massas beat,
Ye are stain'd with guilt within;
As ye hope for mercy sweet,
So forgive your Massas' sin.
And with grief when sinking low,
Mark the Road that Yamba trod;
Think how all her pain and woe
Brought the Captive home to God.
Now let Yamba, too, adore
Gracious Heaven's mysterious plan;
Now I'll count my mercies o'er,
Flowing thro' the guilt of man.
Now I'll bess my cruel capture,
(Hence I've known a Saviour's-n a me
Till my grief is turn'd to rapture,
And I half forget the blame.
But tho' here a Convert rare,
Thanks her God for Grace divine. ;-
Let not man the glory share;
Sinner, still the guilt is thine.
Here an injured Slave forgives,
There a host for vengeance cry;
Here a single Yamba lives,
'There a thousand droop and die.
Duly now baptiz'd am I,
By good Missionary man, Lord, my nature purify,
As no outward water can!
All my former thoughts abhorr'd,
Teach me now to pray and praise;
Joy and glory in my Lord,
Trust and serve him all my days.
H
Worn, indeed, with grief and pain,
Death I now will welcome in:
O, the heavenly price to gain!
O, to 'scape the power of Sin!
True of heart, and meek, and lowly,
Pure and blameless let me grow!
Holy may I be, for holy,
Is the place to which I go.
But, tho' death this hour may find me,
Still with Afric's love I burn';
(There I've left a spouse behind me)
Still to native land I turn.
And when Yamba sinks in death,
This my latest prayer shall be,
While I yield my parting breath,
O, that Afric might be free.
Cease, ye British sons of murder!
Cease from forging Afric's chain;
Mock your Saviour's name no further,
Cease your savage lust of gain.
Ye that boast " Ye rule the waves,"
Bid no slave-ship soil the sea;
Ye, that "never will be slaves,"
Bid poor Afric's land be free.
Where ye gave to war its birth,
Where your traders fix'd their den,
There go publish "Peace on Earth,
Go, proclaim" good-will to men.'
Where ye once have carried slaughter,
Vice, and slavery, and sin;
Seiz'd on Husband, Wife, and Daughter,
Let the gospel enter in.
Thus, where Yamba's native home,
Humble hut of rushes stood;
Oh, if there should chance to roam,
Some dear Missionary good;
Thou in Afric's distant land,
Still shall see the man I love; Join him to the Christian band, Guide his soul to realms above.
There no fiend again shall sever
Those whom God hath join'd and blest :
There they dwell with him for ever,
There" the weary are at rest.”
You who love a tale of glory,
Listen to the song I sing;
Heroes of the Christian story,
Are the heroes whom I bring..
Warriors of the world, avaunt!
Other heroes me engage, 'Tis not such as you I want,
Saints and Martyrs grace my page.
Warriors who the world subdue,
Were but vain and selfish elves;
While my heroes good and true,
Greater far, subdu'd themselves.
Fearful Christian! hear with wonder,
Of the Saints of whom I tell;
Some were burnt, some sawn asunder,
Some by fire or torture fell.
Some to savage beasts were hurl'd,
Some surviv'd the lion's den;
Was a persecuting world,
Worthy of these wond'rous ment
Some in fiery furnace thrown,
Yet escap'd, unsing'd their hair;
There Almighty pow'r was shown,
For the son of God was there.
Now we crown with deathless fame,
Those who scorn'd and hated fell;.
Worldings fear contempt and shame,
Christians fear but sin and hell.
How the shower of stones descended,
Holy Stephen on thy head!
While thy tongue the truth defended,
How the glorious Martyr bled
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