Dear friend in the gospel, you ask for a line,  The which I will send you as I can get time;  And this is the subject on which I shall dwell— To write of my Jesus, who sav'd me from hell. I often am led of my history to think; And while I remember, I shudder and shrink. My birth was all sin, my nature all foul, It makes me oft weep, ofttimes do I howl. In childhood I was of my mother bereft; Ah! then to the mercy of man was I left; But man, he forsook me, regardless of claim, A helpless, a friendless outcast I became. The workhouse receiv'd me, and there was I found  By an uncle, who travell'd many miles…

The late Mr. Thomas Poock was born at Brompton, near Chatham, Kent, on the 21st Feb., 1797. His early life was "full of striking incidents and marvelous activeness." Bereaved of his mother in early childhood, he became a poor, helpless, friendless outcast consequently was placed in a very trying position. An uncle, who lived many miles away, hearing of it, fetched him, and took him to his own home and kindly cared for him for a short time. Soon he had to go to London, where, at the hands of a mother-in-law, he met with very cruel treatment. Before he was eleven years old he was sent to sea, where, on a man-of-war he acted as a cabin-boy for about three years. There He, in…