LETTER IV.

_Jaffa, October_ 20, 1841

DEAR BROTHER PRATT,

Yesterday I arrived in this place from Beyrout, and just as I was about to start from the American consul's in this place to Jerusalem, at a most enormous price, a company of English gentlemen rode in from Jerusalem with many servants all armed, and they were to return immediately to Jerusalem, and I can go for little or nothing comparatively speaking.

I have only time to say a few words; but through the favour of heaven I am well and in good spirits, and expect, in a day or two, to see Jerusalem.

My journey has been long and tedious, and consequently expensive. If I get back to England with money enough to buy my dinner, I shall think myself well off.

The country is in a terrible state. While I was at Beyrout, a terrible battle was fought in Mount Lebanon, about six hours' walk from Beyrout, between the Drewzes and Catholics. It was said that about four hundred were killed on each side. An English officer, returning from St. Jean d'Acre to Beyrout, was taken by the Drewzes, and would have been killed had not the Pacha come to his rescue.

He said that he found ten human bodies in the street on his way without heads. Thefts, murders, and robberies are taking place almost continually. The American missionaries in Beyrout and Mount Lebanon have had notice from the Grand Sultan, through our minister at Constantinople, Commodore Porter, to leave the country, and a prospect that all the missionaries in Syria will have to leave. This is only conjecture, however. But in this, if it do take place, I can see plainly the hand of Providence. The fact is, this land belongs to the Jews; and the present fermentation thereof shows to me that it is fast working back into the hands of its rightful heirs. God will, in due time, drive out the Canaanites, so that no more a Canaanite shall be found in the land, or in the house of the Lord.

I find that almost an universal anxiety prevails respecting the return of the Jews. The waters are troubled because the Angel has descended. My heart leaps for joy at the prospect of seeing that land, and there fulfilling my mission.

When we left Smyrna for Beyrout, we only took in stores for one week, thinking that would surely be sufficient, as the voyage is usually made in four days; but we were nineteen days on the passage. A number of days I eat snails gathered from the rocks, but the greatest difficulty was, I could not get enough of them. I was so weak and exhausted that I could not go on shore after the slight exertion of drawing on my boots. But that is past; I am now strong and well, and have plenty to eat. I now have nothing but land pirates, in the shape of Arabs, to encounter. An Englishman seems like a brother, let his religion be what it may. Yet I am very partial to the fulness of the gospel; for in it I have great joy.

The servants are now waiting for me, and I must gird on my arms and be off. Yet one thing I will notice, which is this: On my passage from Beyrout to this place, the night before last, at one o'clock, as I was meditating on the deck of the vessel, as she was beating down against a sultry schroke wind, a very bright glittering sword appeared in the heavens, about two yards in length, with a beautiful hilt, as plain and complete as any cut you ever saw. And, what is still more remarkable, an arm, with a perfect hand, stretched itself out and took hold on the hilt of the sword. The appearance really made my hair rise, and the flesh, as it were, to crawl on my bones. The Arabs made a wonderful outcry at the sight; O, Allah, Allah, Allah![A] was their exclamation all over the vessel.

[Footnote A: Lord, Lord, Lord!]

I mention this because you know there is a commandment to me which says, "Unto you it shall be given to know the signs of the times, and the sign of the coming of the son of man."

May the Lord bless you all in England and in America. And I pray that he will bless my wife, and my dear little children; God knows that I want to see them--yea, and all the saints.

I have many particulars that I would like to write, but time will not allow at this time. You will hear from me again by the first opportunity, if the Arabs don't kill me. There is no post here; letters are sent by private conveyance, through friends, &c. God bless you and the cause of Zion is my last prayer.

My love to brothers Snow and Adams, and all the brothers and sisters in the communion: pray for me.

Yours, in great haste,

ORSON HYDE.

* * * *

THE GATHERING OF ISRAEL.

BY MRS. TINSLEY.

_(From the Monthly Chronicle for April.)_

A sound hath pass'd through the nations, heard By the heart alone, when its depths are stirr'd; Mightier than that of storm-lifted seas, Than the tempest's rush amid forrest trees; Mightier than sorrow's earth-born cry, Than the shout of kings to victory; And still, where its tale hath gone, A voice to the breeze is cast, "On to Jerusalem, brothers, on! We have gain'd our home at last!

"Lift up thine head, O Israel! yet From the depths of the darkness round thee set; Rejoice, for the chosen of the Lord Have listened once more to His living word; Calling them forth from the nations around, To the hallow'd rest of their father's ground: And still, as the goal is won, Let the thrilling shout be past, On to Jerusalem, brothers, on! We have gain'd our home at last!

"Was the scoffer strong in the days of old, Fenced by his idols of dust-won gold, Mocking their hope, while his footsteps trod With the prophet-gather'd hosts of God? Heed him not now in the times that be, For ours is no common destiny; But, with true armour, won From the stores of the mighty past, On to Jerusalem, boldly on! We have gain'd our home at last!

"Did the desert of old yield its gushing wave, For the pilgrim-fathers their thirst to lave? Did the vision of God before them stand, Guiding their steps to the promis'd land? And shall we, their children, all forget That this mighty arm is our refuge yet? No! by the hope whereon We have lean'd through the stormy past! On to Jerusalem, brothers, on! We have gain'd our home at last!

"There flow the waters that flow'd of yore, Washing no trace from the hallow'd shore; There rise the hills where our fathers bow'd When the voice of God shook the riven cloud; And the boughs of the stately cedar thrill With that holy breath, for it stirs them still: And we, are we call'd upon By a voice to the desert cast? On to Jerusalem, Israel, on! We have gain'd our home at last!"

* * * *

_Liverpool: James and Woodburn, Printers, 14, Hanover Street._

Transcriber's Note

Some obvious printer's errors (e.g. 'injuction' for 'injunction') have been corrected as seemed reasonable. Some unusual spellings (e.g. 'radience,' 'Bethsda') and inconsistent quotation marks in the original have been maintained.