78 THE MORAVIAN BROTHERS. 
No more their hearts’ warm pulses bound— 
The young, the beautiful, the gay; 
Now not a rock in ocean's round 
More senseless and more cold than they ! 
Unheard of them, their dirge forlorn 
Is sung by night-winds moaning loud—_ 
Themselves the sport of tempests borne, 
Wrapp’d in a wave, their restless shroud !” 
Leaving the captain and his companions, who were 
proceeding to the wreck, we continued our course 
over a wild and uncultivated country, filled with 
painful reflections on what we had seen and heard. 
During our solitary ride we came to a Missionary 
Station, belonging to the Moravian Brothers, situ- 
ated in a retired and secluded spot in the midst of 
a lone wilderness, called “ Elim.” Here we halted 
to refresh ourselves and our horses. An air of order 
and peacefulness pervaded this quiet valley, while » 
the kindness manifested by the amiable messengers 
of peace produced an impression on my mind that 
will never be effaced. One could imagine a stranger 
entering such a scene, exclaiming in the words of 
the great poet,— 
“‘ T thought that all things had been savage here - 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment: but whate’er ye are, 
That in this desert inaccessible, 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
Lose and negiect the creeping hours of time— 
If ever you have look’d on better days ; 
If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church ; 
If ever sat at any good man’s feast ; 
