In Honor of a Life Well Lived

"Droop half-mast colours; bow, bareheaded crowds,
As this plain coffin o'er the side is slung,
To pass by woods of masts and ratlined shrouds,
As erst by Afric's trunks, liana-hung.

"'Tis the last mile of many thousands trod
With failing strength, but never-failing will,
By the worn frame, now at its rest with God,
That never rested from its fight with ill.

"Or if the ache of travel and of toil
Would sometimes wring a short, sharp cry of pain
From agony of fever, blain, and boil,
'Twas but to crush it down, and on again!

"He knew not that the trumpet he had blown
Out of the darkness of that dismal land,
Had reached and roused an army of its own
To strike the chains from the slave's fettered hand.

"Now we believe he knows, sees all is well;
How God had stayed his will and shaped his way,
To bring the light to those that darkling dwell
With gains that life's devotion well repay.

"Open the Abbey doors, and bear him in
To sleep with king and statesman, chief and sage,
The Missionary come of weaver-kin,
But great by work that brooks no lower wage.

"He needs no epitaph to guard a name
Which men shall prize while worthy work is known;
He lived and died for good — be this his fame:
Let marble crumble: this is Living-stone.

This was written in honor of the great missionary to Africa, David Livingston, upon the occasion of his death.

There is an entry in his journal, written upon the last birthday but one of his eventful life, and it reveals at once the motive and the earnestness of his whole career: "My Jesus, my King, my Life, my All, I again dedicate my whole self to Thee."

This speaks of the motive behind this great pilgrim's life! From strength to strength indeed!