MISSIONARY, OR WHITE PILGRIM
(a tradition of New York Indians)

I came to the spot where the white pil-grim lay,
And pen-sive-ly stood by his tomb;
Whne in a low whis-per I heard something say,
How sweet-ly I sleep here a-lone!

The tem-pest may roar, and the loud thun-der roll,
And ga=ther-ing storms may a-rise;
Yet calm are my feel-ings, at rest is my soul,
The tears are all wiped from my eyes.

The cause of my Master propell'd me from home,
I bid my companion farewell;
I left my sweet children (who for me do mourn)
In far distant regions to dwell.

I wander'd an exile and stranger below,
To publish salvation abroad;
The trunp of the gospel endeavor'd to blow
Inviting poor sinners to God

But when among strangers, and far from my home,
No kindred or relative nigh
I met the contagion and sunk in the tomb,
My spirit to mansions on high.

O tell my companion and children most dear
To weep not for Joseph, though Gone!
The ssame hand that lef me through scenes dar and drear
Has kindly conducted me home.



Tune to be posted shortly!