“Such promise throws a rainbow bright Death’s darkest storm above, And bids us catch the heaven-born light, And praise the God of love. “MY DEAR MOTHER HASSELTINE: I wrote the above lines some time ago, and intended to add a longer postscript; but find myself pressed for time at the present moment. “It is a long time since I had a line from any of your family. I hope you will not quite forget me, but believe me ever, Yours most affectionately, “A. JUDSON. “_August 17, 1829._” _To the Bennetts in Rangoon._ “... I never had a _tighter fit_ of low spirits than for about a week after you had gone. I sometimes went, after dinner, to take a solitary walk in the veranda, and sing, with my _harmonious_ voice, ‘Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone.’ However, I am rallying again, as the doctors say. But I have not yet got the steam up in the Old Testament machine. ‘Toil and trouble,’ etc. Heaven must be sweet after all these things. I have no more to say.... I hope you will pray for me, for you have not such inveterate habits to struggle with as I have contracted through a long course of religious sinning. O, my past years in Rangoon are spectres to haunt my soul; and they seem to laugh at me as they shake the chains they have riveted on me. I can now do little more than beg my younger brethren and sisters not to live as I have done, until the Ethiopian becomes so black that his skin can not be changed. And yet I have sometimes sweet peace in Jesus, which the world can neither give nor take away. O, the freeness, the richness of divine grace, through the blood of the cross! “Your affectionate, unworthy brother, “A. JUDSON.” To the sisters of his wife he wrote as follows: “MAULMAIN, _October_ 24, 1828. “MY DEAR SISTERS M. AND A.: You see from the date that it is the second anniversary of the triumph of death over all my hopes of earthly bliss. I have this day moved into a small cottage, which I have built in the woods, away from the haunts of men. It proves a stormy evening, and the desolation around me accords with the desolate state of my own mind, where grief for the dear departed combines with sorrow for present sin, and my tears flow at the same time over the forsaken grave of my love and over the loathsome sepulchre of my own heart.” “_October 24, 1829._