From India’s Coral Strand, 1883

Born: Sep­tem­ber 11, 1853, Be­nar­es (Var­a­na­si), Ut­tar Pra­desh, In­dia.

Baptized: De­cem­ber 1, 1853.

Died: 1937, Cawn­pore (now Kan­pur), Ut­tar Pra­desh, In­dia.



Ellen was the daugh­ter of Rev­er­end Ne­he­mi­ah Gor­eh, a Ma­ra­tha Brah­min con­vert from Hin­du­ism, and Lak­shmi­bai Jon­ga­le­kar.

Her mo­ther died when she was two months old, and she was adopt­ed first by a Mr. Smailes, an in­di­go plant­er, but he lost his pro­per­ty in the 1857 Mu­ti­ny.

It was ar­ranged that Ell­en should go to the CMS Or­phan­age at Be­nar­es, but she was in­stead adopt­ed by Rev­er­end W. T. Storrs, a mis­sion­a­ry.

She was tak­en to Eng­land, where she was ed­u­cat­ed, first in a pri­vate school in York, then in the Home and Co­lo­ni­al Col­lege in Lon­don.

When we came to Eng­land for a time, in 1865, we brought Nel­lie with us, and were, by the aid of kind friends, able to put her to a good school.

When we re­turned to Eng­land, in 1871, she again re­joined us in our Eng­lish home, and has been to us in­deed as a daugh­ter, and a most be­loved one, and to our child­ren al­to­ge­ther as a sis­ter.

As year by year God’s grace has grown and shone more and more bright­ly in her, the wish has in­creased in her heart to go out and work among her own coun­try­wo­men; and now that de­sire has at last been gra­ti­fied. She left Eng­land in Oc­to­ber, 1880.

Mrs. Storrs



Who Will Go for Us?

Listen, listen, English sisters,
Hear an Indian sister’s plea—
Grievous wails, dark ills revealing,
Depths of human woe unsealing,
Borne across the deep blue sea!
We are dying day by day,
With no bright, no cheering ray:
Nought to lighten up our gloom—
Cruel, cruel, is our doom.

Listen, listen, Christian sisters,
Show ye have a Christ-like heart;
Hear us sadly, sadly moaning,
’Neath our load of sorrow groaning,
Writhing ’neath its bitter smart;
With no hope of rest above,
Knowing not a Father’s love;
Your true sympathy we crave,
You can help us, you can save.

Listen, listen, Christian sisters:
Hark! they call, and call again;
Can ye pass them by, unheeding
All their eager, earnest pleading?
Hear ye not their plaintive strain?
Let your tender hearts be moved,
Let your love to Christ be proved:
Not by idle tears alone,
But by noble actions shown.

This is no romantic story,
Not an idle, empty tale;
Not a vain, far-fetched ideal:
No, your sisters’ woes are real.
Let their pleading tones prevail,
As ye prize a Father’s love,
As ye hope for rest above,
As your sins are all forgiven,
As ye have a home in heaven!

Rise, and take the Gospel message,
Bear its tidings far away;
Far away to India’s daughters:
Tell them of the living waters,
Flowing, flowing, day by day,
That they too may drink and live.
Freely have ye, freely give;
Go, disperse the shades of night
With the glorious Gospel light.

Many jewels, rare and precious,
If ye sought them, ye should find,
Deep in heathen darkness hidden.
Ye are by the Master bidden,
If ye know that Master’s mind.
Bidden, did I say? Ah no!
Without bidding ye will go
Forth to seek the lone and lost;
Rise and go, whate’er it cost!

Would ye miss His welcome greeting
When He comes in glory down?
Rather would ye hear Him saying—
As before Him ye are laying
Your bright trophies for His crown—
I accept your gathered spoil,
I have seen your earnest toil;
Faithful ones, well done! well done!
Ye shall shine forth as the sun!

Ellen Lakshmi Goreh
From In­dia’s Cor­al Strand, 1883

Being at­tacked with scar­let fe­ver while re­sid­ing in a large fa­mi­ly of child­ren, Miss Gor­eh was re­moved by her own de­sire to the 7 Fe­ver Hos­pi­tal.

During the time she was there, God was pleased to give her a mis­sion of use­ful­ness to the pa­tients on each side of her. These lines were writ­ten in the Hos­pi­tal.

From In­dia’s Cor­al Strand, 1883


Led Aside

Led aside! What meaneth this?
Greatest blessing, highest bliss!
Sweet communion with my Lord,
Humbly listening to His Word.
’Mid the stir of daily life,
’Mid the tumult and the strife,
I could not learn what He would teach me:
His gentle voice could never reach me.

Called away from all I love,
Closer drawn to One above:
Human voices may be hushed,
Brightest, noblest hopes be crushed:
Sometimes lonely, sometimes sad,
Often joyful, often glad:
But Jesus Christ is always near me:
If I but whisper, He will hear me.

Laid aside from work for Him,
Though hot tears my eyes should dim,
Nothing, nothing I would be!
If He really needed me,
He would not have laid me low:
Well His tender love I know.
Now laid aside from pleasant duty,
I gaze and see the Saviour’s beauty.

Called away to rest awhile
’Neath the sunshine of His smile:
Such a joy I would not miss!
If I could, I fain would kiss
That kind hand which brought me here!
Can it be a desert drear
Where love my pathway is surrounding?
All, all I have! and am abounding!

Laid aside—behold I lie,
Humbled ’neath Thy searching eye.
Painful lessons I am taught;
Now I know why I was brought
Here aside, my Lord, with Thee:
I was blind, but now I see!
I do not shrink: dear Master, teach me—
All sound is hushed:
Thy voice can reach me.

Called away to Jesu’s side,
Here content I will abide;
Peace, sweet peace, my spirit fills:
Every murmuring thought He stills:
All my tears He wipes away,
Turns the darkness into day.
Some work for Him e’en here is given,
A few dear souls to lead to Heaven.

Laid aside—yet not for long;
Sigh shall soon give place to song.
Even now I only praise
Him who humbled but to raise:
Polished by His skillful Hand,
Perfected in Him I stand.
O Jesus, Lord, I kneel before Thee:
With grateful heart, lo! I adore Thee.

Soon, again, I shall rejoice:
Soon again, with gladsome voice,
I shall spread the Saviour’s fame,
Shed the fragrance of His Name.
Of His wondrous goodness tell,
Greet the friends I love so well.
More earnest yet, more humble, make me
Through all my life do not forsake me!

Ellen Lakshmi Goreh
From In­dia’s Cor­al Strand, 1883



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