From India’s Coral Strand, 1883

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

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


Ellen was the daugh­ter of Rev­er­end Ne­he­mi­ah Gor­eh, a Chris­tian con­vert. 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. El­len then was adopt­ed by Rev­er­end W. T. Storrs and was tak­en to Eng­land, where she was ed­u­cat­ed.

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

Goreh’s works in­clude:

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, 1883

  1. Beacon-Light
  2. Great Re­fin­er, The
  3. In the Sec­ret of His Pre­sence