The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[50]
     ‘My Father careth still for me!’
Called from thy hearth and home,—from her,
     The last bud on thy household tree,
The last dear one to minister
     In duty and in love to thee,
From all which nature holdeth dear,
     Feeble with years and worn with pain,
To seek our distant land again,
     Bound in the spirit, yet unknowing
The things which should befall thee here,
     Whether for labor or for death,
In childlike trust serenely going
     To that last trial of thy faith!

Oh, far away,
     Where never shines our Northern star
On that dark waste which Balboa saw
     From Darien's mountains stretching far,
So strange, heaven-broad, and lone, that there,
     With forehead to its damp wind bare,
He bent his mailed knee in awe;
     In many an isle whose coral feet
The surges of that ocean beat,
     In thy palm shadows, Oahu,
And Honolulu's silver bay,
     Amidst Owyhee's hills of blue,
And taro-plains of Tooboonai,
     Are gentle hearts, which long shall be
Sad as our own at thought of thee,
     Worn sowers of Truth's holy seed,
Whose souls in weariness and need
     Were strengthened and refreshed by thine.
For blessed by our Father's hand
     Was thy deep love and tender care,