In the year 1855 Mr. Ford removed to Beirut, and Miriam accompanied him.  She made a public profession of her faith in Christ in 1856, and was married in 1858 to Mr. Ibrahim Sarkees, foreman and principal proof reader of the American Mission Press.  Her father has since removed to Beirut, and all of the family have become entirely reconciled to her being a Protestant.  Her brother Habibs is a frequent attendant on Divine service, and regards himself as a Protestant.

Miriam is now deeply interested in Christian work, and the weekly meetings of the Native Women’s Missionary Society are held at her house.  The Protestant women agree either to attend this Sewing Society, or pay a piastre a week in case of their absence.

I close this chapter with the mention of Werdeh, [Rose,] daughter of the celebrated Arabic poet Nasif el Yazijy, who aided Dr. Eli Smith in the translation of the Bible into Arabic.  She is now a member of the Evangelical Church in Beirut.  She herself has written several poems of rare merit; one an elegy upon the death of Dr. Smith; another expressing grateful thanks to Dr. Van Dyck for attending her sick brother.  Only this can be introduced here, a poem lamenting the death of Sarah Huntington Bistany, daughter of Raheel, who died in January, 1866.  Sarah’s father and her own father, Sheikh Nasif, had been for years on the most intimate terms, and the daughters were like sisters.  The account of Sarah’s death will be found in another part of this volume.

    Oh sad separation!  Have you left among mortals,
    An eye without tears, hot and burning with sorrow? 
    Have you left on this earth a heart without anguish,
    Or a soul unharrowed with grief and emotion? 
    Thou hast plucked off a flower from our beautiful garden,
    Which shall shine like the stars in the gardens celestial. 
    Wo is me!  I have lost a fair branch of the willow
    Broken ruthlessly off.  And what heart is not broken? 
        Thou hast gone, but from me thou wilt never be absent. 
        Thy person will live to my sight and my hearing. 
    Tears of blood will be shed by fair maids thy companions,
    Thy grave will be watered by tears thickly falling. 
    Thou wert the fair jewel of Syrian maidens,
    Far purer and fairer than pearls of the ocean. 
    Where now is thy knowledge of language and science? 
    This sad separation has left to us nothing. 
        Ah, wo to the heart of fond father and mother,
        No sleep,—­naught but anguish and watching in sorrow
        Thou art clad in white robes in the gardens of glory. 
        We are clad in the black robe of sorrow and mourning
    Oh grave, yield thy honors to our pure lovely maiden,
    Who now to thy gloomy abode is descending! 
        Our Sarah departed, with no word of farewell,
        Will she ever return with a fond word of greeting? 
    Oh deep sleep of death, that knows no awaking! 
    Oh absence that knows no thought of returning! 
        If she never comes back to us here in our sorrow,
        We shall go to her soon.  ’Twill be but to-morrow