COLPORTEUR SONGS, 
 
 ^&&x\ttzn Cor tfje American ifEessenjjet, 
 
 NEW LONDON, CONN, 
 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/colporteursongswOOcaul 
 
COLPORTEUR SONGS. 
 
 •THE COLPORTEUR. 
 
 What courteous stranger at the door, 
 
 Bowed with his burden, stands ? 
 He brings, perchance, a precious store 
 Of gems, or pearls, or golden ore, 
 Or tidings from far lands. 
 
 His bearing frank, his gentle mien, 
 
 A welcome entrance win : 
 The shining seal of heaven is seen 
 Imprinted on his brow serene, 
 
 Proclaiming peace within. 
 
 See, he unlades ! — his ready hand 
 
 The imprisoned wealth betrays ; 
 Light breaks from every bursting band- 
 The loosened gems like rays expand — 
 The diamonds, how thev blaze ! 
 
THE COLPORTEim. 
 
 Not earth's poor sparkling dust — not gold- 
 
 Not gems from sea or mine : 
 The soul's rich wealth is there unrolled; 
 The noblest words of worthies old, 
 
 Thoughts high and songs divine. 
 
 His gems are books, and fervent prayers, 
 
 Warnings and counsels kind : 
 Letters from his dear Lord he bears, 
 And news from heaven of high affairs. 
 
 For man's great good designed. 
 
 Gems rich in light — the Call, the Rise, 
 
 The Progress and the Rest ; 
 Persuasives, Guides to yonder skies, 
 Alarms, Appeals and Counsels wise, 
 And Fountains for the blest. 
 
 The pens that traced these words of fire 
 
 Dipped deep into the heart : 
 See ! they convince, persuade, inspire ; 
 Breathe peace, wake ravishing desire, 
 
 And hope and joy impart. 
 
 Hark ! for the stranger's voice is heard, 
 
 Waking the slumbering mind : 
 Tears fall like rain-drops at his word. 
 And list'ning hearts like leaves are stirred 
 
 When breathes the sweet south wind. 
 
THE COLPORTEUR. 
 
 He speaks again, in accents low, 
 
 Of Christ and all his love ; 
 His mingled cup of myrrh and wo, 
 The pangs he bore for man below, 
 
 The throne he fills above. 
 
 Book-bearer ! — O what name more blest, 
 
 More welcome to lone hearts ! 
 He brings a gem for every breast — 
 A stranger came : — a cherished guest. 
 A bosom-friend departs. 
 
 On ! on ! The light thou bear'st impart ; 
 
 Sow thick the golden seed ; 
 Through every door, on every heart 
 The sun-beam of the Gospel dart : 
 
 Speed with thy jewels, speed ! 
 
THE COLPORTEUR S SONG 
 
 (Tune, What is Life? Sacred Songs, 314.) 
 
 Oil through woodlands dark and dreary, 
 Though my lonely coarse I take, — 
 
 Climbing now the mountains weary, 
 Threading now the dangerous brake,— 
 
 Sweetening solitude with prayer, 
 
 Cheerily my books I bear. 
 
 Night to me can bring no terror, 
 Deserts lone no chilling fear ; 
 
 Christ within, my shield from error. 
 Faith and Hope my way-mates dear ; 
 
 All around me angel-throngs. 
 
 Holy thoughts and heavenly songs. 
 
 Oft 1 taste divinest pleasure 
 
 By the way-side as I read : 
 Opening here and there my treasure, 
 
 I upon its honey feed. 
 Every sentence there enrolled 
 Thrills like music — shines like gold. 
 
 O how sweet to dwellings lonely 
 Leaves of heavenly truth to bear ! 
 
 Dropping print where printing only 
 (yomes to bring salvation there : 
 
 Kindling in each house a flame 
 
 With my Savior's glowing name. 
 
THE COLPOKTEUR'S SONGJ. 
 
 Baxter^ s heavenly Rest possessing, 
 What a glow it spreads around ! 
 
 Vacant shelves receive the blessing, 
 Lonely hearts a friend have found. 
 
 He who brings the welcome guest — 
 
 He who takes him — both how blest ! 
 
 Bunyan, thy precious dreaming, 
 How it charms the listening ear ! 
 
 Young and old, with faces beaming, 
 Group the Pilgrim'' s tale to hear : 
 
 Learning from the lessons given 
 
 All the wondrous way to heaven. 
 
 Nor in vain to bosoms thirsting, 
 Flavel, does thy Fountain flow — 
 
 Stricken hearts, with anguish bursting, 
 Owen points you where to go. 
 
 Weary pilgrim, seeking rest. 
 
 Wear these jewels on your breast. 
 
 Thus with hymns and heavenly musing 
 
 Daily I my course pursue, 
 All my single talent using. 
 
 Loving well the work I do, — 
 Trusting in my Savior's care, 
 Cheerily my books I bear ! 
 
THE COLPORTEUR'S WELCOME.* 
 
 By darksome forests shaded o'er, 
 
 A rude log-cabin see : 
 The mother sits beside the door, 
 
 Her children at her knee. 
 She hears far off an echoing voice, 
 
 She hears a foot-fall light ; 
 Her heart leaps up, she cries, *' Rejoice ! 
 
 We shall be blest to-night. 
 
 ' The evening wind a murmur brings 
 Of some good angel near ; 
 And hark ! I hear the song he sings 
 Tn accents lovv^ and clear. 
 
 * '-In passing through a very destitute neighborhood I called on Mrs. 
 M , who told me she had not had an opportunity of going to meeting 
 
 any where for years ; she did not live near any place of public preaching 
 and had no conveyance ; desired much to join some christian church, but 
 never had an opportunity. I knew her husband was a dissipated man 
 and very poor ; yet I saw before me a delicate-looking woman, surround- 
 ed by ten bright, interesting children, the eldest about sixteen, all looking 
 clean and neat; and she informed me she had taught several of the eldest 
 to read, though they had never been to school. I asked her what books 
 she had? She replied, two pieces of spelling-books and a part of an 
 old Bible. I gave her a volume in the name of the Society ; and while 
 m the midst of her children (to whom I gave Tracts and one or two small 
 volumes) she expressed her sincere thanks, tears of gratitude gathering in 
 her eyes. I also procured her a Bible." 
 
 Letter Jrom the Hon.F. E. M , of Kentucky. 
 
THE colporteur's WELCOME. 9 
 
 I see him through the trees advance, 
 
 Along the path- way sure ; 
 I know his kind, his cheerful glance — 
 
 'Tis he — the Colporteur! 
 
 '* The brightness of his presence shines 
 
 Before him on the way: 
 Haste, haste, my children, through the pines, 
 
 And guide him lest he stray. 
 That voice I know a blessing bears, 
 
 That hand a balm to cure ; 
 The grief he cannot heal, he shares — 
 
 God bless the Colporteur!'' 
 
 '' O welcome from thy weary way, 
 
 Come in, thou long desired ! 
 Come in, we'll wear the night away 
 
 With prayers and songs inspired. 
 No Sabbath-bell salutes our ears, 
 
 No preacher's doctrine pure ; 
 No book of God our fireside cheers — - 
 
 Thrice welcome, Colporteur ! 
 
 '^ Borne down by sin, I daily groan, 
 
 Salvation is my cry ; 
 These few worn gospel leaves, alone. 
 
 Have pointed me on high : 
 Hast thou no heavenly gift to charm 
 
 The anguish I endure ] 
 No Sharon's Rose, no Gilead's Balm 
 
 For me, O Colporteur ? 
 
10 THE colporteur's WELCOME. 
 
 '* I've heard that thou dost jewels bear 
 
 That burn like stars at night ; 
 Rich gems engraved by masters rare, 
 
 And filled v\^ith heavenly light. 
 O give me one, from tempting sin 
 
 My weak heart to secure ; 
 ril keep the talisman within, 
 
 And bless the Colporteur." 
 
 O not in vain that touching plea, 
 
 The wife's, the mother's prayer ; 
 Instruction, like a planted tree. 
 
 Shall make that desert fair. 
 The word of God — books — heavenly light, 
 
 The Gospel, free and pure, 
 By these we track thy pathway bright, 
 
 O heaven-sent Colporteur ! 
 
THE COLPORTEUR'S APPEAL. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE LADIES' COLPORTEUR ASSOCIATION OF THE 
 MERCER-STREET CHURCH, NEW-YORK. 
 
 The Colporteur sat by a fount in the wild- wood ; 
 
 Unloosened, his treasures were spread on the ground ; 
 The Psalm for the aged, the sweet song for childhood, 
 
 The Bible, the volume, lay shining around. 
 
 He mused — in his bosom a bright lamp was burning — 
 He lay down to rest, but he soon knelt to pray ; 
 
 For his heart o'er the lost and the lonely was yearning. 
 O'er men that like leaves were fast dropping away. 
 
 So white was the harvest that spread out before him, 
 So vast — and the reapers so few in the glade ; 
 
 He grasped in his anguish the mercy-seat o'er him, 
 And clung to the robe of his Savior for aid. 
 
 " O Father! Redeemer ! behold, men are dying ! 
 
 "O who will bring food to the famishing mind? 
 "Unlettered, ungospelled, these wide wastes are lying, 
 
 " No balm for the wounded, no light for the blind. 
 
 '* O God ! give us seed in these lands to be sowing, 
 " Give us tongues, give us feet with thy tidings to run ; 
 
 ** Let Zion's young host o'er the mountains come flowing, 
 " There's room for a thousand where now is but one !" 
 
12 THE COLPORTEUR S APPEAL, 
 
 He ceasM — and sweet Patience, like down falling round him, 
 Suffused him with peace as he went on his way ; 
 
 And the bright angel Hope cheerly cried, as she found him, 
 " There's light in the East ! 'tis the breaking of day I" 
 
 Is it so ? Are our true hearts their efforts all blending, 
 To publish, to scatter, to pour out truth's tide ? 
 
 Are the beautiful feet to their missions ascending — 
 The printed truth running swift by their side 1 
 
 O thou who didst watch thy dear Lord in his prison, 
 
 Sweet WOMAN ! stand forth and advance his high throne : 
 
 As then thy blest voice cried, ** The Lord, he is risen !" 
 So now let thy word and thy works make him known. 
 
 There is wilderness yet — there is darkness like Edom; 
 
 O ne'er let the mighty Book-banner be furled 
 Till the star-light of knowledge, the moon-light of freedom. 
 
 The Gospel's clear sun-light illumine the world ! 
 
 END. 
 
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