Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN ALLAN GARDINER; FIRST MISSIONARY TO PATAGONIA, by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN ALLAN GARDINER; FIRST MISSIONARY TO PATAGONIA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In desolate wild grandeur all around
Last Line: And a bright crown adorns that mission martyr's head!
Subject(s): Gardiner, Allan (1794-1851); Missionaries & Missions


IN desolate wild grandeur all around,
Dark rocky spires are tow'ring to the sky,
While through the caverns echoes far the sound
Of winds, which o'er Antarctic seas sweep fitfully.

The ocean waves with deep and hollow tone
Combat the haughty cliffs in fierce affray,
Then back returning with a sullen moan,
Sink, till again they dash, their warrior spray.

No flowerets spring that barren land to cheer,
No waving trees salute that stormy sky
With graceful bend: scarce grass and herbs appear,
Or aught of greenery, to soothe the wearied eye.

O who in such a dreary clime could dwell?
Who would abide on such a desert shore?
Save the wild natives, who, our sailors tell,
No Saviour know, no Deity supreme adore.

But list awhile! Who breathed that deep-drawn sigh?
Whence came it? Hark again! A voice of prayer,
Mingled with heavenly praises, rose on high,
As with sweet incense hallowing the chilly air.

Alone, no earthly friend or brother near,
A human form lies on that bleak, bleak strand;
Sunken his eye, and wan his cheeks appear,
For famine pale has laid on him her withering hand.

Nor food nor water six long weary days
Have passed those pallid lips, yet not a plaint
From him may fall, but notes of joyful praise;
Sustained with bread of life his soul can never faint:

For Jesus whispers comfort to his soul,
And smoothes his pillow, though so cold and hard;
He hears no wind, he sees no surges roll,
He only hears his Master, sees his bright reward.

Another sigh, his happy soul hath flown
From its frail dwelling, where so long it lay
Pinioned; his painful toils at length are done,
And angels welcome him to dwell in endless day.

Wherefore left he his lovely native isle?
Wherefore his life, his all thus sacrifice?
Did he for pleasure undertake such toil?
Was it for sordid gold, which men so highly prize?

No! higher motives filled that noble breast;
He sacrified his all from Christian love,
He went to tell of peace and heavenly rest,
To teach those heathen of a gracious God above.

And shall we blame him, who devoted thus
To his great Master's name his freshest days?
Despise that bright example left to us,
And on his memory strive to cast a gloomy haze?

Shame, shame on those who dare aspersions fling
On Gardiner's honored name! They know it's true
Right well he served his Saviour and his King;
And they who love the Master, love the servant too.

But now he rests in peace, his labors past;
Nothing can vex that noble spirit more,
For he hath gained his distant port at last,
The waves have only carried him to that blest shore.

No laurels bloom on that pale dying brow,
No earthly honors cluster round that bed;
But victor-wreaths of life encircle now,
And a bright crown adorns that mission martyr's head!





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