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SABBATH,
WITH
SABBATH WALKS, &c.
John Pillans, Printer, James's Court,
Edinburgh.
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WITH
SABBATH WALKS,
AND
OTHER POEMS.
JAMES GRAHAME.
Six days thou shalt do thy work, and on the seventh day thou shalt rest j
that thine ox and thine ass may rest, and the son of thy handmaid, and the
stranger may be refreshed.—Exod. xiii. 12.
THE NINTH EDITION,
WITH A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.
PRINTED FOR OGLE, DUNCAN, & CO. LONDON ;
BELL & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH;
AND M. OGLE, GLASGOW.
1821.
PREFACE.
In the first of the following Poems, I have en¬
deavoured to describe some of the pleasures and
duties peculiar to the seventh day. The appro¬
priation of so considerable a portion of human
life to religious services, to domestic enjoyment,
and to meditative leisure, is a most important
branch of the divine dispensation. The extent
of the boon appears in its most striking light,
when we consider the days of rest in any given
period, as accumulated into one sum.—He who
has seen threescore and ten years, has lived ten
years of Sabbaths.
V)
PREFACE.
It is this beneficent institution that forms the
grand bulwark of poverty against the encroach¬
ments of capital. The labouring classes sell their
time. The rich are the buyers, at least they are
the chief buyers; for it is obvious, that more
than the half of the waking hours of those who
earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, is
consumed in the manufacture of articles, that
cannot be deemed either necessaries or comforts.
Six days of the week are thus disposed of al¬
ready: if the seventh were in the market, it
would find purchasers too. The abolition of the
Sabbath would, in truth, be equivalent to a sen¬
tence, adjudging to the rich the services of the
poor for life.
In the Biblical Pictures, I have attempted to
delineate some of those scenes which painters
have so successfully presented to the eye. I
need hardly say, however, that, by the adoption
of this title, I meant not to subject myself to the
PREFACE.
vii
principles of the art of painting.—I have not
confined myself to the objects of sight, nor ad-
hered to one point of time. I have often repre¬
sented a series of incidents; and, in pourtraying
characters, I have made them speak, as well as
act.
If some of the Miscellaneous Poems which
conclude this volume should draw on me the im¬
putation of egotism, I must even plead guilty to
the charge; trusting that the indulgent reader,
and good-natured critic, will not be disposed to
rank my transgressions in this respect among the
more aggravated species of the crime.
CONTENTS.
Page
Life of the Author, xvii
The Sabbath,
Sabbath Walks.
A Spring Sabbath Walk, G1
A Summer Sabbath Walk, 64
An Autumn Sabbath Walk 69
A Winter Sabbath Walk, 72
Biblical Pictubes.
The First Sabbath 77
The Finding of Moses, 81
Jacob and Pharaoh, 82
Jephtha's Vow...... 84
Saul and David, 86
Elijah fed by Havens, 88
X
CONTENTS.
Page
The Birth of Jesus announced, 90
Behold my Mother and my Brethren, 93
Bartimeus restored to Sight, 9^
Little Children brought to Jesus, 9G
Jesus calms the Tempest, 9?
Jesus walks on the Sea, and calms the Storm, 99
The Dumb cured, 101
The Death of Jesus, 102
The Resurrection, 103
Jesus appears to the Disciples, 105
Paul accused before the Tribunal of the Areopagus, 106
Paul accused before the Roman Governor of Judea, 108
Miscellaneous Poems.
Paraphrase on Psalm ciii. 3. 4 113
On visiting Melrose, after an absence of sixteen years, 116
The Wild Duck and her Brood,
To a Redbreast, ]9f)
Epitaph on a Blackbird killed by a Hawk, 123
The Poor Man's Funeral, 124
The Thanksgiving off Cape Trafalgar 127
To my Son, 129
Notes,
ARGUMENT
Desciiiption of a Sabbath morning in the country The la¬
bourer at home.—The town mechanic's morning walk;—His
meditation—The sound of bells.—Crowd proceeding to church.
—Interval before the service begins Scotish service English
service:—Scriptures read :—The organ, with the voices of the
people The sound borne to the sick man's couch His wish.
—The worship of God in the solitude of the woods:—The
shepherd boy among the hills—People seen on the heights re¬
turning from church Contrast of the present times with those
immediately preceding the Revolution The persecution of the
Covenanters:—A Sabbath conventicle:—Cameron:—Renwick :
Psalms:—Night conventicles during storms A funeral accord¬
ing to the rites of the church of England.—A female character.
—The suicide.—Expostulation The incurable of an hospital
—A prison scene :—Debtors :—Divine service in die prison-
xii
ARGUMENT.
hall:—Persons under sentence of death—The public guilt of
inflicting capital punishments on persons who have been left
destitute of religious and moral instruction Children proceed¬
ing to a Sunday school.—The father.—The impress.—Appeal
on the indiscriminate severity of criminal law—Comparative
mildness of the Jewish law :—The year of jubilee Descrip-
tion of the commencement of the jubilee:—The sound of the
trumpets through the land The bondman and his family re¬
turning from their servitude to take possession of their inherit¬
ance.—Emigrants to the wilds of America:—Their Sabbath
worship.—The whole inhabitants of Highland districts who have
emigrated together, still regret their country :—Even the blind
man regrets the objects with which he had been conversant—An
emigrant's contrast between the tropical climates and Scotland.
—The boy who had been bom on the voyage.—Description of
a person on a desert island :—His Sabbath:—His release:—
Missionary ship—The Pacific ocean :—Defence of Missionaries :
—Effects of the conversion of the primitive Christians.—Tran¬
sition to the slave-trade :—The Sabbath in a slave-ship :—Ap¬
peal to England on the subject of her encouragement to this
horrible complication of crimes.—Transition to war Unfortu¬
nate issue of the late war—in France—in Switzerland Apos¬
trophe to Tell : The attempt to resist too late : The
treacherous foes already in possession of the passes:—Their de¬
vastating progress :—Desolation.—Address to Scotland Hap¬
piness of seclusion from the world—Description of a Sabbath
ARGUMENT.
xiii
evening in Scotland PsalmodyAn aged man—Descrip¬
tion of an industrious female reduced to poverty by old age and
disease.—Disinterested virtuous conduct to be found chiefly in
the lower walks of life—Test of charity in the opulent Re¬
commendation to the rich to devote a portion of the Sabbath to
the duty of visiting the sick—Invocation to health—to music.
—The Beguine nuns Lazarus—The resurrection—Dawn -
ings of faith—Its progress—Consummation.
THE
LIFE
OF
JAMES GRAHAME.
^Nothing is perhaps more instructive to the re¬
flecting world, than to dwell on the characters of
those who have benefited mankind by their learn¬
ing, their wisdom, or their virtues. There is
something attractive in excellence, by which the
mind is allured to imitate, and by which it imper¬
ceptibly receives instruction. It is the admiration
of excellence that kindles the love of virtue, that
inspires the poet's song, and that teaches the sol¬
dier to brave the hardships of the field. Every
generous feeling sympathises in memory of the
xviii
THF. LIFE OF
man who devoted his life to the public good, and
who, by his superior attainments, contributed in
any measure to its advancement. Though few
comparatively have been favoured to excel in the
higher walks of genius, it were ungrateful not to
retain in remembrance the names of those who
have generously laboured to promote human im¬
provement. There is something due to talent and
enlightened genius, which the heart rejoices to
yield; and in proportion to our estimate of them
in any individual, so shall our disposition be to
honour him in life, and venerate his memory when
gone. The Philosopher, the Historian, and the
Poet, have deservedly in all ages commanded the
admiration of posterity ; but where the excellen¬
cies of either have been happily associated with
religion, and rendered subservient to her promo¬
tion, we at once recognize in such characters every
thing that is valuable and truly good.
The character of the Rev. James Grahame, the
amiable author of the " Sabbath," and other
beautiful poems, is in this respect valuable, as it is
formed of qualities of the most refined intellectual
and moral nature. To give a short view of his
life and character, in so far as our limited informa¬
tion will allow, may not perhaps be unacceptable
james grahame.
xix
to those who may have occasion to peruse his de¬
lightful poetry.
James Grahame was born in Glasgow, on the
22d April 1765. His father was a writer of high
respectability in that city, and added to his profes¬
sional knowledge, considerable attainments in li¬
terature, with which was conjoined a true Chris¬
tian spirit, breathing piety and uniform benevo¬
lence. His mother possessed in an eminent de¬
gree the virtues of her husband, and took the
highest delight to instil into the infant mind of her
son, the piety and virtues of his father. Sprightly
in his dispositions, Grahame, in his boyish years,
betrayed no particular expression of religious feel¬
ing,—he was always apparently attached to piety,
but it was some time before it shone forth promi¬
nently in his character.
A few years, however, evinced the deep impres¬
sions he had received from the pious instruction of
his parents; his native gaiety in a great measure
left him, and was succeeded by a much more seri¬
ous and thoughtful calmness of mind. From the
time of his entering the Grammar School, he seems
to have been imbued with a devotional spirit, and
ardently given to literary pursuits. Studious be¬
yond what is common in early youth, he devoted
his time exclusively to literature; and on entering
XX
THE LITE OF
the College of Glasgow, he soon distinguished
himself by the accuracy and extent of his classical
attainments. Almost at the commencement of his
academical career, a period, when nothing great
can be expected from the youthful mind, he pro¬
duced verses in Latin, not more beautiful, than
indicative of his future eminence.
For five years lie attended the literary and phi¬
losophical lectures, in all of which he was a fa¬
vourite with his professors; and during the two
sessions of his attendance to the prelections of
Dr Millar, the celebrated author of the Distinc¬
tion of Ranks, &c. he acquired and enjoyed
the friendship and esteem of that eminent man.
More thoughtful than formerly, as must have
been expected from the course of study he had
just completed, he seemed to take great delight in
the contemplation of nature, and tracing her works,
in the true spirit of philosophy, to the wisdom and
goodness of the Creator, he was powerfully indu¬
ced to devote himself to the study of divinity ; but
from this he was dissuaded by his father, who
wished him to follow the law, which he himself
had practised with high respectability and success.
James, with that filial submission which uniform¬
ly characterized him, yielded to the entreaties of
JAMES GKAHAME.
xxi
his father, and was accordingly removed to Edin¬
burgh in 1784, where he became an apprentice to
a Mr Laurence Hill, a cousin of his own, with
whom having completed the term of his engage¬
ment, he passed as Writer to the Signet.
The study of law, however, but ill tallied with
his natural dispositions, and instead of diminishing,
it only served to increase his attachment to poetry,
to literature, and his favourite subject, divinity.
Uncongenial to his feelings, as it was to his consti¬
tution, from the necessary toil and confinement it
required, he was persuaded by his friends to di¬
rect his attention to the Bar, as a field better adapt¬
ed to his delicate health, to whom, after much
affectionate importunity, he submitted, and accord¬
ingly passed as Advocate, on the 10th of March
1795.
In this capacity, he evinced that he was not un¬
conscious of the dignity and responsibility attach¬
ing to his new profession ;•—he studied to adorn it,
by a rigid attention to whatever, as business, was
committed to his trust. His diffidence, associated
with an uncommon delicacy of mind, obliged him
frequently to decline appearances to which his su¬
perior talents would have done ample justice; and
from the influence of these, and a devotedness of
soul to divine things, he at last quitted the Bar,
xxii
THE LIFE OF
relinquished the study of law, and pursued the
bent of his genius.
As an Advocate, though not remarkable for
ready eloquence, his perspicuity and elegance al¬
ways secured him attention and respect; and when
we remember that the profession of law was at va¬
riance with his own choice, and followed rather
from a compliance with the wishes of his friends,
than from the native bias of his own mind, we can¬
not sufficiently estimate his high claim to legal re¬
spectability. Previous to the above date, he was
deprived, by death, of his excellent and pious fa¬
ther, an event which seems to have made a deep
impression on his affectionate heart, and which was
the more powerfully felt, as he had not the painful
satisfaction of witnessing his departure, and receiv¬
ing from his lips his last paternal blessing. The
time had now arrived to evince the vitality of his
religion. On receiving the distressing intelligence
of his father's death, he submissively resigned
himself to the will of God, and sought relief from
that source, from which alone it can proceed.
Hitherto, in silent devotion, his religion occupied
the heart,—it was too sincere and cordially felt to
admit of his perpetual exhibition of it. Like its
object, it was unseen, but ever active in benevo¬
lence :
JAMES GHAHAME.
xxiii
«' For genuine piety humbly seeks the shade,
And feels delight in silent converse with its God."
His feelings, however, seem at this time to have
obliged him to dictate a letter to his mother, re¬
plete with devotional feeling, which, at that me¬
lancholy moment, was not more calculated to al¬
leviate her sorrows, than to afford her a conviction
of the pure and unaffected piety of her son.
Given to reflection, and cautious in opinion, he
seldom ventured to dilate on his own personal feel¬
ings, especially those of a religious nature. He
shrunk from every thing like ostentation, and his
greatest accomplishments, moral and intellectual,
were eminently adorned by the refined delicacy of
his sentiments. Early prepossessed in favour of
divinity,—although, for particular reasons, not
strongly indicated during his father's life,—now
left to the liberty of his own choice, he made
known to his friends, a short time after his fa¬
ther's death, his determination to devote his future
days to the sacred ministry. His motives to pur¬
sue this high office, appear to have been the most
disinterested and pure. It was his first and ear¬
liest choice. Amid all his former professional pur¬
suits, we find him devoting a great portion of his
time to the contemplation of divine things; and it
xx iv
THE LIFE OF
was in retirement from the bustle of business,
that he composed his " Sabbath," and other
beautiful poems, which have not more enriched
the republic of letters, than deservedly exalted
their elegant Author to the first rank as a devo¬
tional poet.
In March 1802, he married the eldest daughter
of Richard Grahame, Esq. town-clerk of Annan,
whose moral and intellectual worth was only sur¬
passed by her tender regards for her husband.
In 1804, about two years after his marriage, he
published the " Sabbath," which, it appears, he
had written in entire secresy, unknown (with the
exception of his respectable publisher) to either
friends or relations; and, to prevent his being
known as the Author, he gave it to the public
without his name. It soon, however, recommend¬
ed itself to all classes, and acquired a fame and
circulation which would have induced most men
to come forth and acknowledge it; but its great
popularity served only to induce the Author's con¬
cealment ; and had it not been for Mrs Grahame's
enthusiastic admiration of the work, which she
perused without the least suspicion of her hus¬
band's being the Author, it is more than conjec¬
ture, the world would have never known it from
his own acknowledgment. The high approba-
james gkahame.
xxv
tion she expressed of its merits one day in his pre¬
sence, operated as a charm on his mind; longer
concealment he found impossible, and gratefully
repaid her admiration of his poem, by generously
acknowledging himself the Author. Her feelings
upon this occasion, the reader will more easily con¬
ceive than we can describe.
The excellence of this beautiful poem consists
in the simplicity of its style, the elegance of its
sentiments, and the purity and harmony of its
numbers. These, indeed, characterize all his poe¬
tic productions; but in the " Sabbath," the poet
seems at perfect ease, and altogether master of his
subject. His accurate conception of it must at
once strike the reader. It embraces every circum¬
stance the pious mind can associate with the so¬
lemnity of the holy day he describes; and whilst
we read, we experience a sacred sublimity of soul
from the faithful representation it exhibits. In all
his descriptions we feel interested,—his imagery
is chaste, and suited to his subject,—he presents
nature in her simplest dress,—and in almost every
line we are pleased and instructed.
It is impossible to remain insensible to the sym¬
pathies of the poet, in his description of the town
mechanic's Sabbath morning walk and medita¬
tion :—
XXV i
TIIE LIFE OF
" Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day:
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke ;
While wandering slowly up the river side,
He meditates on Him, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough.
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,
He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope,
That heaven may be one Sabbath without end."
Here the reader is disgusted with no glitter of
language or unmeaning epithets; the idea through¬
out is just and beautiful, and simply but elegantly
expressed; nor is there introduced a single shade
foreign to the character, or to what we can con¬
ceive to be the meditation of the virtuous mecha¬
nic on the morning of the holy Sabbath.
His description of the Sabbath service of the
shepherd boy among the hills, we consider one of
the finest of his poetical beauties:—
" Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath service of the shepherd boy.
In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretch'd on the sward, he reads of Jesse's 6on,
JAMES GKAHAME.
xxvii
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,
And wonders why he weeps : the volume clos'd,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof
Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth
Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone unseen,
The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps,
Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer.
In peace they home resort. 0 blissful days !
When all men worship God as conscience wills."
He seems to feel a sentiment of compassion for
the shepherd-boy in his lone retreat, and hastens
to furnish him with such society as his solitude
could afford. The lamb, the hovering falcon, and
the passive murmur of the mountain-rill, are finely
introduced, to enliven the solitude where he lay
stretched on the green sward, meditating grati¬
tude to his Redeemer.
In these lines the poet has furnished a landscape
that would figure on canvas. His objects are
clear and distinct, and afford the mind the most
delightful conceptions. His scenery is skilfully
suited to his subject, and corresponds with the
emotions and sentiments he describes. As the
poem is before us, we shall make a few critical re-
xxviii
THE LIFE OF
marks, and dismiss it in the beautiful language of
the Author.
As a production, it is certainly a high effort of
poetical genius, and, in point of devotional ma¬
jesty and sublimity, equal to any performance
of ancient or modern times. The subject itself,
indeed, is of that nature which, without the aid of
the muse, must ever excite in the pious mind the
most grateful remembrances. The Sabbath is the
day of the Lord, to which he evinced his claim by
the power of his resurrection; but let not even
the sublimity of the institution withhold our tri¬
bute of praise due to the Chi-istian poet.
In the general flow of the poem, he is engag¬
ing, elevated, and affecting; his objects are varied
with art; his scene is now in heaven, and now on
earth; and amid the variety, he preserves the
unity of his plan. The amiable innocence and
unaffected piety which it breathes, give it an un¬
common charm, and we cannot forbear to pro¬
nounce it the best of his poetical productions.
The following lines will discover to the reader
what we conceive will justify our opinion ; and
we would recommend the whole poem to his at¬
tentive perusal, not more for its piety, than its
elegance and classical accuracy:—
JAMES GRAHAME.
xxix
" 0 Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales :
But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun
Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight,
Wandering, and stopping oft, to hear the song
Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs;
Or, when the simple service ends, to hear
The lifted latch, and mark the grey-hair'd man,
The father and the priest, walk forth alone
Into his garden-plat, or little field,
To commune with his God in secret prayer,—
To bless the Lord, that in his downward years
His children are about him : Sweet, meantime,
The thrush, that sings upon the aged thom,
Brings to his view the days of youthful years,
When that same aged thorn was but u bush.
Nor is the contrast between youth and age
To him a painful thought; he joys to think
His journey near a close,—heaven is his home.
More happy far that man, though bowed down.
Though feeble be his gait, and dim his eye,
Than they, the favourites of youth and health,
Of riches, and of fame, who have renounced
The glorious promise of the life to come."
His " Sabbath Walks," " Biblical Pic¬
tures," and " Miscellaneous Poems," con¬
tained in this volume, form a fine sequence to
the " Sabbath." The subjects of the two for¬
mer are a-kin to the first poem,—the one forming,
as it were, the ground-work, and the other the
meditations peculiar to the Christian when,
XXX
THE LIFE OF
" With melted soul he leaves
The house of prayer, and wanders in the fields
Alone 1"
The " Sabbath Walks" consist in four sepa¬
rate poems, and afford a fine description of the
natural beauties of the four seasons, Spring, Sum¬
mer, Autumn, and Winter.
His " Biblical Pictures" are short but beau¬
tiful and interesting descriptions of scripture cha¬
racters, and will afford much pleasure and in¬
struction to the reader.
Besides the poems already noticed, it is neces¬
sary to mention that he also produced other two
volumes of poetry, his " British Georgics,"
and " Birds of Scotland," to the last of which
is appended the " Rural Calendar," which ap¬
peared first in a newspaper, (the Kelso Mait), and
which, after some additions and corrections by his
own hand, he published as an accompaniment to
the " Birds of Scotland."
His " Georgics" is unquestionably a poem of
high merit, whether we consider it as connected
With the study of agriculture, or as a faithful pic¬
ture of the character and manners of our Scotish
peasantry. With all its faults, (for who of the
most elegant writers are without them ?) it is cer¬
tainly a most valuable treatise on the art of hus-
JAMES GKAHAME.
ban dry, and well merits the attentive perusal of
the rural economist. The poet's accurate obser¬
vation of nature in almost every shape, and his
minute attention to the varied operations of agri¬
culture, sufficiently shew his extensive knowledge
of the subject; and, with comparatively few ex¬
ceptions, he has expressed it in the true language
of poetry:—
" Blossoms and fruits, and flowers, together rise,
And the whole year in gay confusion lies."
The " Birds of Scotland" is perhaps the
Smoothest of all his poetical writings. The style
is in perfect harmony with the subject; and, not¬
withstanding the occasional defects which some¬
times appear in the plan and management of the
poem, it must always please by its beautiful de¬
scriptions and genuine feeling. We shall conclude
our critical remarks by simply noticing other two
poetical productions of his pen,—" The Siege of
" Copenhagen," and " Mary Stuart," a trage¬
dy. In the former, the poet laments, with much
tenderness, the sufferings of the Danes at the
memorable siege and capture of their capital
by the British fleet under Lord Nelson in
1801. Every line breathes patriotism, whilst
xxxii
THE LIFE OF
the generous indignation of a lofty mind, roused
into action by its hatred of injustice and oppres¬
sion, must interest every heart susceptible of right
feeling. The poet has written as if he had been a
spectator of the bloody scene, and feelingly repre¬
sents the unmerited sufferings experienced at that
time by the unoffending citizens of Copenhagen,
from the cruel and unjust interference of the Bri¬
tish Government.
The reader will now be able to form some idea
of Grahame's talent for poetry ; and its power will
be the more readily admitted, when he remembers
that he produced the greater part, if not the whole,
of his beautiful poems, when obliged to devote his
principal time and attention to the laborious duties
of the law.
But we must now view our Author in a diffe¬
rent, though not less important character.
As a poet, his name must be remembered while
piety and literature are appreciated, and must be
embalmed in the affections of every heart alive to
the softer sentiments of humanity.
Towards the end of 1607, his constitution, na¬
turally delicate, gave evident symptoms of decline.
He became more subject to feverish attacks, and
was obliged to leave Edinburgh, which he did at
the end of summer session 1808. From this time
JAMES GRAHAME.
xxxiii
we find him devoting his whole soul to prepa¬
ration for the ministry; and, notwithstanding the
difficulties he had to encounter in the change of
his profession, from the state of his health and
other circumstances, his attachment to that office
was undiminished. After remaining some months
in Annan, where he had gone on leaving Edin¬
burgh, he proceeded to Chester, from thence to
London, where he was ordained on Trinity Sun¬
day, 28th May 1809, by the Bishop of Norwich.
Having thus so far completed his wishes in ob¬
taining licence to preach the gospel, he now
anxiously looked for a field of usefulness, and de¬
lighted in nothing so much as in the prospect of
declaring to his fellow-men the free grace and love
of his Redeemer. This sublime feeling pervaded
his whole deportment, gave vigour to his relaxed
constitution, and inspired him with cheerfulness
under every bodily suffering.
During this year, on the last Sabbath of July
following, he was promoted to the curacy of Shep-
ton Moyne in Gloucestershire. On his arrival at
that place, he did not much relish his domestic ac¬
commodation. The house in which he was to re¬
side, being under repair, was occupied by mecha¬
nics of almost every description; and during all
that time, he tells us " that he was forced to
c
xxxiv
THE LIFE OF
" write his sermons to the tune of hammers, saws,
" and chisels,"—an accompaniment certainly not
quite adapted to the feelings of the student. Be¬
ing soon, however, happily freed of this annoy¬
ance, he experienced more comfort; and, in a let¬
ter written to a friend about that time, he thus de¬
scribes his own feelings on commencing his cleri¬
cal career, and gives some account of his parish,
and of the people committed to his care.
" I am now but beginning," says he, " to feel at
" home. At first the wandering backwards and
" forwards through the prayer-book, puzzled me
" sadly; but now it comes quite easy to me. I
" never, except the first minute or two of the first
" day, felt any embarrassment in the pulpit.
" This parish is small, so that the duty is rather
" easy. As to the people, (the labouring classes
" I mean), they are rather good, I think; but
" they are a dull race, and deplorably ignorant.
" Hardly one in twenty can write, and more than
" the half cannot read. The poor are wretchedly
" poor indeed, though the rich are liberal, and the
" poor-rates by no means light. In religion they
" are far behind us (the Scotch)—they want
" warmth of devotion. Few of them join in the
" Psalms, and in many churches there is no sing-
" ing at all. This lukewarmness of the people,
JAMES GRAHAME.
XXXV
" I ascribe very much to the insufficiency and
" supineness of the clergy. There are here and
" there excellent and zealous ministers, but the
" majority of them are lazy, stupid, and worldly-
" minded. In the neighbourhood there are two
" or three young men, who, in the course of a
" few years, have done much good. In short,
" the harvest only wants labourers. With respect
" to the gentry, they are both good and agreea-
" ble. They read a good deal,—they have ex-
" cellent and large collections of books,—they are
" clever and intelligent,—but to ' me there is a
" ' want about them,—they want fire and varie-
" ' ty !' They are, in short, too rational.
" I am here as happy as I can be at a distance
" from my friends. Our temporalities are not
" great, but we have many comforts—a tolerable
" house, two gardens, and a small paddock, be-
" sides seven acres for which we pay rent. The
" church is very ancient and crazy. In the
" steeple there are three sweet-toned bells and
" an owl."
In this place he remained till April 1810, being
obliged, from particular circumstances, at that time
to return with his family to Scotland. These be¬
ing scon happily removed, he again looked to a
situation in the church; and being at this time in
c 2
xxxvi
THE LIFE OF
the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, where the cha¬
pel of St George's had just become vacant, he pro¬
posed himself as a candidate, but unfortunately
without success. The event was, his removal
with his family to Durham; and on his arrival,
which was in August, he was appointed sub-curate
of the chapel of St Margaret till Christmas;—a
situation which, from its temporary nature, and
trifling emolument, must have presented few at¬
tractions to a worldly mind; but to Grahame's
these were considerations of minor importance,—
higher motives induced his acceptance of the
charge; and he accordingly entered on its impor¬
tant duties with the cordial zeal of a sincere minis¬
ter of Christ.
The field upon which he was now called to act,
was the most populous of the six parishes in the
city of Durham, and loudly called for spiritual
cultivation. On his first appearance in the pul¬
pit, he found the church nearly deserted; but
this, although discouraging, operated upon him as
an excitement; and it was not long ere it exhibit¬
ed a very different appearance.
The affectionate warmth and persuasive simpli¬
city of his pulpit addresses, recommended him
quickly to the hearts of his auditory, which, in¬
creasing daily, became in a short time the most
JAMES GKAHAME.
xxxvii
numerous and respectable in the city. His abi¬
lity was acknowledged by all; and its command¬
ing influence over a class of society where li¬
terature is seldom apportioned to fashionable
prejudices, was soon manifested. These did his
winning manners so completely remove, that he
succeeded to induce the attendance of those upon
divine ordinances who had hitherto looked upon
them with indifference and neglect. All around
became daily more sensible of his claim to their
esteem and respect. To the poor he was liberal
and kind; to the afflicted attentive and affection¬
ate; as a pastor, zealously devoted to the spiri¬
tual welfare of his flock; whilst his whole con¬
duct, public and private, testified the integrity of
his heart.
We cannot give his character as a preacher
more accurately than in his own elegant descrip¬
tion of the faithful pastor of the poor :—
" Most earnest was his voice, most mild his look,
As, with raised hands, he blessed his parting flock.
He is a faithful pastor of the poor ;—
He thinks not of himself; his Master's words,
Feed, feed my sheep, are ever at his heart,—
The cross of Christ is ay before his eyes."
The term of his engagement in this place being
on the point of expiry, Grahame was again obliged
xxxviii
THE LIFE OF
to leave his beloved people, and left to look out
for another situation. Merit, unfortunately, has
not always been sufficiently appreciated, and has
too often been doomed to neglect by those whose
names might have acquired a dignity in seasona¬
bly contributing to its reward. It was the fate of
this great man, at this time, to meet with a disap¬
pointment, and from a quarter too, where liberality
and Christian principle might have been expected.
A minor canonry, of no great emolument, attach¬
ing to the cathedral of Durham, unfortunately (for
the interests of religion at that time) in the gift of
the Dean and Chapter, was ungenerously refused
him. And what by no means will reflect honour
on the Dean, he permitted the canonry to remain
vacant during Grahame's life, after it had been
twice offered to and rejected by his favourites.
Providence, however, kindly furnished him with
a friend in the person of the amiable Mr Barring-
ton, nephew of the worthy Bishop of Durham,
who procured him the curacy of Sedgefield, a
country parish in the vicinity of that city. The
situation, though obscure, Grahame readily and
gratefully accepted, and commenced his labours
011 May-day 1811.
Notwithstanding the impaired state of his health,
he discharged his official duties with uncommon
JAMES GltAHAME.
xxxix
zeal and ability, not more to the approbation than
the edification and spiritual comfort of his peo¬
ple.
During his residence in this place, he had occa¬
sion to preach before the learned Bishop of Dur¬
ham, who expressed his high opinion of his talents
as an able preacher, and gave him still higher
praise in telling him, " That his discourse could
" not fail in being useful to all ranks." The
worthy Bishop, in testimony of the sincerity of
his praise, assured him of his friendship, and pro¬
mised him his patronage; but from this time his
health became so bad, that he was reluctantly
obliged to decline the duties of his office, and visit
Edinburgh for medical advice and change of air.
In August he arrived in that metropolis, accom¬
panied by his nephew, who conducted him to the
house of his only surviving sister, Mrs Archibald
Grahame, from whom he received the most affec¬
tionate attention.
Whilst under her care, he availed himself of the
best medical advice, which did not in the least re¬
move his complaints,—they were either altogether
misunderstood by his physicians, or too fatal for
their cure. His patience and cheerfulness, how¬
ever, amid all his afflictions, were truly Christian.
ITe rejoiced even in tribulation; nor did he ever,
xl
THE LIFE OF
during his long and severe indisposition, breathe a
sentiment, or utter an expression, but of resigna¬
tion to the divine will.
Severe asthma, accompanied with headach and
oppressive sickness, had long preyed upon him;
and their continued and increasing violence had
so reduced his constitution, that little hope was
now entertained of his recovery. Notwithstand¬
ing, however, the state of his debility, he felt a
strong inclination to visit his native city, and be¬
hold for the last time the scenes of his youthful
associations. With this view he removed from
Edinburgh on the 9th of September, accompanied
by his affectionate wife, who had long sympathized
in his sufferings, and soothed him with the tender-
est care. On his journey he became worse, and
his whole appearance indicated a speedy termina¬
tion of his valuable life. On his arrival at White-
hill, near Glasgow, the residence of his eldest
brother, his strength was quite exhausted, and his
spirits so depressed by disease and fatigue, that he
was unable to indulge much in conversation. The
first night, however, he expressed the high conso¬
lation his soul experienced from that religion
which had been his guide and conductor through
life; and in his midnight meditations, he was
heard, by those who waited upon him, breathing
JAMES GRAHAME.
xli
the pious language of the Psalmist, in the sublime
devotion of the 103d Psalm.
Death was now fast approaching; and when lan¬
guage failed him to speak of the righteousness and
redeeming love of his Saviour, his looks bespoke
to all the resignation of his soul, and his confidence
of a blessed immortality. He expired on the 14th
of September 1811, in the forty-seventh year of
his age, and was laid in the same grave which
had received his worthy parents.
He left two sons and a daughter, who were
soon afterwards deprived by death of their excel¬
lent mother, when the three orphans were entrust¬
ed to the care of her father and sister residing at
Annan.
Mr Grahame possessed, in a high degree, all
the tender affections, and felt a deep interest in
contributing to human happiness. As a husband,
he was devoted to his wife, and never found him¬
self so happy as when in her society. Home was
his delight; and it was at his own fire-side that
he was the most endearing. He had a warm at¬
tachment to youth, and was sensibly alive to the
feelings of the infant mind. To his own children
he was peculiarly attached, and delighted in no¬
thing more than to participate in their innocent
xlii
THE I.1FE OF
amusements, and mark the earliest movements of
their minds. This tenderness of feeling accompa¬
nied him wherever he went; and the old and the
young mutually experienced the cordialities of his
heart.
His manners were unaffected and unassuming ;
and the open frankness with which he entered into
conversation with those with whom he associated, at
once removed any restraint that might be imposed
from respect to his high talents. He accommodat¬
ed his conversation with a minute attention to the
capacity of every company in which he mingled;
and whilst he joined in the most common topics
with innocent gaiety, he astonished, when occasion
required, by his sound argument and irresistible
eloquence. The moment his feelings became inte¬
rested, his whole countenance was expression,
which gave a charm and efficiency to the ingenui¬
ty and clearness of his statements, whilst his mild¬
ness and candour uniformly secured him, if not
the conviction, at least the affection and esteem of
all who differed from him. In all his professional
characters he was respected and esteemed, not
more for his distinguished abilities, than the suavi¬
ty of his manners, and the kindly warmth of his
heart. His benevolence extended to all, and his
charity to the poor was constant and unceasing.
JAMES GRAHAME.
xliii
To the stranger he was always a friend, and ever
ready to plead the cause of the unfortunate. He
diligently sought out the house of mourning, took
the highest delight to confirm the faith of the dy¬
ing, and to comfort the fatherless and widow in
their affliction.
We shall take leave of our poet in the appro¬
priate language of the elegant author of a beauti¬
ful monody which appeared soon after his death,
which must be read with delight by all who have
any taste for genuine poetry.
" And if e'er
Faith, fearless faith, in the eternal bliss
Of a departed brother, may be held
By beings blind as we, that faith should dry
All eyes that weep for Grahame ; or tliro' their tears
Shew where he sits, august and beautiful.
On the right hand of Jesus, 'mid the saints
Whose glory he on earth so sweetly sung.
No fears have we when some delightful child
Falls from its innocence into the grave—
Soon as we know its little breath is gone,
We see it lying in its Saviour's breast,
A heavenly flower, there fed with heavenly dew.
Child-like in all that makes a child so dear
To God and man, and ever consecrates
Its cradle and its grave, my Grahame, wert thou ;—
And hadst thou died upon thy mother's breast,
xliv
THE LIFE OF JAMES GItAHAME.
E'er thou could'st lisp her name, more fit for heaven
Thou scarce hailst been than when thy honour'il head
Was laid into the dust, and Scotland wept,
O'er hill and valley, for her darling bard."
R. H.
Edinburgh,
30th November 1820.
THE
SABBATH:
& Dacrn*
Luce sacra requicscat humus, rcquiescat arator>
Et grave, suspcnso vomerc, cesset opus.
the
SABBATH.
How still the morning of the hallowed day !
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hushed
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloomed waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear,—the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew.
The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
a 2
4
THE SABBATH.
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale ;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song ; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms,—the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods:
The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din
Hath ceased ; all, all around is quietness.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ;
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls,
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray.
But chiefly Man the day of rest enjoys.
Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day.
THE SABBATH.
On other days the man of toil is doomed
To eat his joyless bread, lonely ; the ground
Both seat and board; screened from the winter's cold
And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree ;
But on this day, embosomed in his home,
He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ;
With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy
Of giving thanks to God,—not thanks of form,
A word and a grimace, but reverently,
With covered face and upward earnest eye.
Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day:
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke;
While, wandering slowly up the river side,
He meditates on Him, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,
6
thk sabbatii.
He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope,
That Heaven may be one Sabbath without end.
But now his steps a welcome sound recals:
Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile,
Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe:
Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground:
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind
Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes
With pain, and eyes the new-made gravewell-pleased;
These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach
The house of God; these, spite of all their ills,
A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise
They enter in. A placid stillness reigns,
Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Arise, and read the anointed shepherd's lays.
His locks of snow, his brow serene,—his look
Of love, it speaks, " Ye are my children all,
The gray-haired man, stooping upon his staff,
As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye
THE SABBATH.
1
Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the dome."
Loud swells the song: O how that simple song,
Though rudely chaunted, how it melts the heart,
Commingling soul with soul in one full tide
Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust!
Next comes the unpremeditated prayer,
Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low,
But earnest.—Altered is the tone; to man
Are now addressed the sacred speaker's words.
Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace,
Flow from his tongue : O chief let comfort flow !
It is most needed in this vale of tears :
Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy;
The stranger to discern the Almighty's shield
Held o'er his friendless head; the orphan child
Feel, 'mid his tears, I have a father still !
'Tis done. But hark that infant querulous voice !
Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear:
And see the father raise the wliite-robed babe
In solemn dedication to the Lord :
8 the sabbath.
The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretched hand
The face of innocence ; then earnest turns,
And prays a blessing in the name of Him,
Who said, Let Little children come to me;
Forbid them not * : The infant is replaced
Among the happy band : they, smilingly,
In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth,
The poor man's festival, a jubilee day,
Remembered long.
Nor would I leave unsung
The lofty ritual of our sister land :
In vestment white, the minister of God
Opens the book, and reverentially
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues.
* " And they brought young children to him, that he should
touch them ; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them.
But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto
them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them
not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you,
Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child,
he shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put
his hands upon them, and blessed them."—Mark x. 13 16.
THE SABBATH.
9
The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes,
Then swells into a diapason full:
The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp,
And voice of psalms ; harmoniously attuned
The various voices blend ; the long drawn aisles,
At every close, the lingering strain prolong.
And now the tubes a mellowed stop controuls,
In softer harmony the people join,
While liquid whispers from yon orphan band
Recal the soul from adoration's trance,
And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.
Again the organ peal, loud rolling, meets
The halleluiahs of the choir : Sublime,
A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
As if the whole were one, suspended high
In air, soaring heavenward : afar they float,
Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch:
Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still: his heart is cheered ;
He smiles on death ; but, ah ! a wish will rise,
10 THE SABBATH.
" —Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow ;
My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath day
My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless His name who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid these sweets;
Who gives tire bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye."
It is not only in the sacred fane
That homage should be paid to the Most High ;
There is a temple, one not made with hands,—
The vaulted firmament: Far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city-chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air ;
When not the linrberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray ;
When not a flowret bends its little stalk,
Save where the bee alights upon the bloom;—
THE SABBATH. 11
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon;
Silence his praise : his disembodied thoughts,
Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend
Beyond the empyrean.—
Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath service of the shepherd boy.
In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretched on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,
And wonders why he weeps : the volume closed,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conned
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof
Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth
Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen,
The shepherd boy the Sabbath holy keeps,
12
THE SABBATH.
Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer.
In peace they home resort. O blissful days !
When all men worship God as conscience wills.
Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew,
A virtuous race to godliness devote.
What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil
The record of their fame ! What though the men
Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize
The sister-cause, Religion and the Law,
With Superstition's name ! yet, yet their deeds,
Their constancy in torture and in death,—
These on Tradition's tongue still live, these shall
On History's honest page be pictured bright
To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse
Disdains the servile strain of Fashion's quire,
May celebrate their unambitious names.
With them each day was holy, every hour
They stood prepared to die, a people doomed
To death;—old men, and youths, and simple maids.
THE SABBATH.
13
With them each day was holy ; but that morn
On which the angel said, See where the Lord
Was laid, joyous arose; to die that day
Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways,
O'er hills, thro' woods, o'er dreary wastes, they sought
The upland muirs, where rivers, there but brooks,
Dispart to different seas : Fast by such brooks,
A little glen is sometimes scooped, a plat
With green sward gay, and flowers that strangers seem
Amid the heathery wild, that all around
Fatigues the eye : in solitudes like these,
Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foiled
A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws:
There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array,
Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose
On England's banner, and had powerless struck
The infatuate monarch and his wavering host),
The lyart veteran heard the word of God
By Cameron thundered, or by Renwick poured
In gentle stream : then rose the song, the loud
14
THE SABBATH.
Acclaim of praise ; the wheeling plover ceased
Her plaint; the solitary place was glad,
And on the distant cairns the watcher's ear *
Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.
But years more gloomy followed ; and no more
The assembled people dared, in face of day,
To worship God, or even at the dead
Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce,
And thunder-peals compelled the men of blood
To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly
The scattered few would meet, in some deep dell
By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice,
Their faithful pastor's voice : He by the gleam
Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book,
And words of comfort spake: Over their souls
His accents soothing came,—as to her young
The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve,
She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed
" Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills, to give warning
of the approach of the military.
THE SABBATH.
15
By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads
Fondly her wings; close nestling 'neath her breast,
They, cherished, cower amid the purple blooms.
But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale,
The house of prayer itself,—no place inspires
Emotions more accordant with the day,
Than does the field of graves, the land of rest:—
Oft at the close of evening prayer, the toll,
The solemn funeral-toll, pausing, proclaims
The service of the tomb; the homeward crowds
Divide on either hand; the pomp draws near ;
The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing,
I am the resurrection and the life.
Ah me ! these youthful bearers robed in white,
They tell a mournful tale ; some blooming friend
Is gone, dead in her prime of years:—'twas she,
The poor man's friend, who, when she could not give,
With angel tongue pleaded to those who could;
With angel tongue and mild beseeching eye,
16
THE SABBATH.
That ne'er besought in vain, save when she prayed
For longer life, with heart resigned to die,—
Rejoiced to die ; for happy visions blessed
Her voyage's last days *, and hovering round,
Alighted on her soul, giving presage
That heaven was nigh : O what a burst
Of rapture from her lips ! what tears of joy
Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are closed:
But all her loveliness is not yet flown :
She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face
Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake,
In which the wintry stars all bright appear,
Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice,
Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged,
Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast.
* Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the new world, when
he was already near, but not in sight of land, the drooping hopes of
his mariners (for his own confidence seems to have remained un ¬
moved) were revived by the appearance of birds, at first hovering
round the ship, and then lighting on the rigging.
THE SABBATH. 17
Again that knell! The slow procession stops :
The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick-embossed
With melancholy ornaments,—(the name,
The record of her blossoming age), appears
Unveiled, and on it dust to dust is thrown,
The final rite. Oh ! hark that sullen sound !
Upon the lowered bier the shovelled clay
Falls fast, and fills the void.—
But who is he,
That stands aloof, with haggard wistful eye,
As if he coveted the closing grave ?
And he does covet it, his wish is death:
The dread resolve is fixed ; his own right-hand
Is sworn to do the deed : The day of rest
No peace, no comfort, brings his woe-worn spirit:
Self-cursed, the hallowed dome he dreads to enter ;
He dares not pray; he dares not sigh a hope ;
Annihilation is his only heaven.
Loathsome the converse of his friends: he shuns
B
18
THE SABBATH.
The human face; in every careless eye
Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk.
Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note
Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws :
Or far in moors, remote from house or hut,
Where animated nature seems extinct,
Where even the hum of wandering bee ne'er breaks
The quiet slumber of the level waste;
Where vegetation's traces almost fail,
Save where the leafless cannachs wave their tufts
Of silky white, or massy oaken trunks
Half-buried lie, and tell where greenwoods grew,—
There, on the heathless moss outstretched, he broods
O'er all his ever-changing plans of death :
The time, place, means, sweep like a stormy rack,
In fleet succession, o'er his clouded soul,—
The poignard,—and the opium draught, that brings
Death by degrees, but leaves an awful chasm
Between the act and consequence,—the flash
THE SABBATH.
19
Sulphureous, fraught with instantaneous death ;—
The ruined tower perched on some jutting rock,
So high that, 'tween the leap and dash below,
The breath might take its flight in midway air,—
This pleases for a while; but on the brink,
Back from the topling edge his fancy shrinks
In horror ; sleep at last his breast becalms,—
He dreams 'tis done ; but starting wild awakes,
Resigning to despair his dream of joy.
Then hope, faint hope, revives—hope, that Despair
May to his aid let loose the demon Frenzy,
To lead scared conscience blindfold o'er the brink
Of self-destruction's cataract of blood.
Most miserable, most incongruous wretch !
Dar'st thou to spurn thy life, the boon of God,
Yet dreadest to approach Iris holy place ?
O dare to enter in ! may be some word,
Or sweetly-chaunted strain, will in thy heart
Awake a chord in unison with life.
b 2
20
THE SABBATH.
What are thy fancied woes to his, whose fate
Is (sentence dire!) incurable disease,—
The outcast of a lazar-house, homeless,
Or with a home where eyes do scowl on him !
Yet he, even he, with feeble steps draws near,
With trembling voice joins in the song of praise.
Patient he waits the hour of his release;
He knows he has a home beyond the grave.
Or turn thee to that house with studded doors,
And iron-vizor'd windows ; even there
The Sabbath sheds a beam of bliss, though faint;
The debtor's friends (for still he has some friends)
Have time to visit him ; the blossoming pea,
That climbs the rust-worn bars, seems fresher tinged ;
And on the little turf, this day renewed,
The lark, his prison mate, quivers the wing
With more than wonted joy. See, through the bars,
That pallid face retreating from the view,
THE SABBATH.
21
That glittering eye following, with hopeless look,
The friend of former years, now passing by
In peaceful fellowship to worship God:
With them in days of youthful years, he roamed
O'er hill and dale, o'er broomy knowe ; and wist
As little as the blythest of the band
Of this his lot; condemned, condemned unheard,
The party for his judge :—among the throng,
The Pharisaical hard-hearted man
He sees pass on, to join the heaven-taught prayer,
Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors:
From unforgiving lips most impious prayer !
O happier far the victim, than the hand
That deals the legal stab ! The injured man
Enjoys internal, settled calm ; to him
The Sabbath bell sounds peace; he loves to meet
His fellow-sufferers, to pray and praise :
And many a prayer, as pure as e'er was breathed
In holy fanes, is sighed in prison halls.
22 the sabbath.
Ah me ! that clank of chains, as kneel and rise
The death-doomed row. But see, a smile illumes
The face of some; perhaps they're guiltless: Oh!
And must high-minded honesty endure
The ignominy of a felon's fate !
No, 'tis not ignominious to be wronged:
No ;—conscious exultation swells their hearts,
To think the day draws nigh, when in the view
Of angels, and of just men perfect made,
The mark which rashness branded on their names
Shall be effaced;—when, wafted on life's storm,
Their souls shall reach the Sabbath of the skies;—
As birds, from bleak Norwegia's wintry coast
Blown out to sea, strive to regain the shore,
But, vainly striving, yield them to the blast,—
Swept o'er the deep to Albion's genial isle,
Amazed they light amid the bloomy sprays
Of some green vale, there to enjoy new loves,
And join in harmony unheard before.
THE SABBATH.
23
The land is groaning 'neath the guilt of blood
Spilt wantonly : for every death-doomed man,
Who, in his boyhood, has been left untaught
That Wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace, unjustly dies.
But ah ! how many are thus left untaught,—
How many would be left, but for the band
United to keep holy to the Lord
A portion of His day, by teaching those
Whom Jesus loved with forth-stretched hand to bless !
Behold yon motley train, by two and two,
Each with a Bible 'neath its little arm,
Approach well-pleased, as if they went to play,
The dome where simple lore is learnt unbought:
And mark the father.'mid the sideway throng ;
Well do I know him by his glistening eye,
That follows stedfastly one of the line.
A dark sea-faring man he looks to be ;
And much it glads his boding heart to think,
24
THE SABBATH.
That when once more he sails the rallied deep,
His child shall still receive Instruction's boon.
But hark,—a noise,—a cry,—a gleam of swords !—
Resistance is in vain,—he's borne away,
Nor is allowed to clasp his weeping child.
My innocent, so helpless, yet so gay !
How could I bear to be thus rudely torn
From thee ;—to see thee lift thy little arm,
And impotently strike the ruffian man,—
To hear thee bid him chidingly—begone !
O ye who live at home, and kiss each eve
Your sleeping infants ere you go to rest,
And, 'wakened by their call, lift up your eyes
Upon their morning smile,—think, think of those
Who, torn away without one farewell word
To wife, or children, sigh the day of life
In banishment from all that's dear to man ;—
THE SABBATH.
25
O raise your voices in one general peal
Remonstrant, for the opprest. And ye, who sit
Month after month devising impost-laws,
Give some small portion of your midnight vigils,
To mitigate, if not remove the wrong.
Relentless Justice ! with fate-furrowed brow !
Wherefore to various crimes of various guilt,
One penalty, the most severe, allot ?
Why, palled in state, and mitred with a wreath
Of nightshade, dost thou sit portentously,
Beneath a cloudy canopy of sighs,
Of fears, of trembling hopes, of boding doubts ?
Death's dart thy mace !—Why are the laws of God,
Statutes promulged in characters of fire *,
• " And it came to pass on the third day in the morning, that
there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the
Mount, and the voice of the trumpet exceeding loud ; so that all
the people that was in the camp trembled."—Exod. xix. 16.
26
THE SABBATH.
Despised in deep concerns, where heavenly guidanc
Is most required P The murderer,—let him die,
And him who lifts his arm against his parent,
His country,—or his voice against his God.
Let crimes less heinous dooms less dreadful meet
Than loss of life ! so said the law divine,
That law beneficent, which mildly stretched,
To men forgotten and forlorn, the hand
Of restitution: Yes, the trumpet's voice
The Sabbath of the jubilee * announced:
" " And thou shalt number seven Sabbaths of years unto thee
seven times seven years; and the space of the seven Sabbaths o
years shall be unto thee forty and nine years. Then shalt thoi
cause the trumpet of the jubilee to sound on the tenth day of th<
seventh month ; in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpe:
sound throughout all your land. And ye shall hallow the fiftieth
year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inha¬
bitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you ; and ye shall return
every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man untc
his family."—Lev. xxv. 8. 9. 10.
THE SABBATH. 27
The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land
At once, in every city, echoing rings,
From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs,
So loud, that far within the desert's verge
The couching lion starts, and glares around.
Free is the bondman now, each one returns
To his inheritance : The man, grown old
In servitude far from his native fields,
Hastes joyous on his way: no hills are steep,
Smooth is each rugged path ; his little ones
Sport as they go, while oft the mother chides
The lingering step, lured by the way-side flowers:
At length the hill, from which a farewell look,
And still another parting look, he cast
On his paternal vale, appears in view :
The summit gained, throbs hard his heart with joy
And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more :
Instant his eager eye darts to the roof
Where first he saw the light: his youngest born
28
THE SABBATH.
He lifts, and, pointing to the much-loved spot,
Says,—"There thy fathers lived, and there theysleep.
Onwards he wends ; near and more near he draws :
How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bowered brook !
The sun-beam slanting through the cedar grove
How lovely, and how mild ! but lovelier still
The welcome in the eye of ancient friends,
Scarce known at first! and dear the fig-tree shade
'Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told *
Of Israel from the house of bondage freed,
Led through the desert to the promised land;—
With eager arms the aged stem he clasps,
• " And these words which I command thee this day shall be it
thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy chil¬
dren, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and
when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and
when thou risest up—Thou shalt say unto thy son, We were Pha¬
raoh's bondmen in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt
with a mighty hand."—Deut. vi. 6. 7. 21.
the sabbath. 29
And with his tears the furrowed bark bedews :
And still, at midnight-hour, he thinks he hears
The blissful sound that brake the bondman's chains,
The glorious peal of freedom and of joy !
Did ever law of man a power like this
Display ? power marvellous as merciful,
Which, though in other ordinances still
Most plainly seen, is yet but little marked
For what it truly is,—a miracle !
Stupendous, ever new, performed at once
In every region,—yea, on every sea
Which Europe's navies plow;—yes, in all lands
From pole to pole, or civilized or rude,
People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn
Dawns, shedding dews into their drooping hearts :
Yes, far beyond the high-heaved western wave,
Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast,
The words which God in thunder from the Mount
30
the sabbath.
Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obeyed.
Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land,
Driven from their homes by fell Monopoly,
Keep holy to the Lord the seventh day.
Assembled under loftiest canopy
Of trees primeval, soon to be laid low,
They sing, By Babel's streams me sat and mcpt.
What strong mysterious links enchain the heart
To regions where the morn of life was spent!
In foreign lands, though happier be the clime,
Though round our board smile all the friends we love
The face of nature wears a stranger's look :
Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept
Of its inhabitants, none left behind,
Not even the poor blind man who sought his bread
From door to door, still, still there is a want;
Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows
No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale
THE SABBATH.
31
Presented to his closed eyes a blank,—
Deplores its distance now. There well he knew
Each object, though unseen ; there could he wend
His way, guideless, through wilds and mazy woods ;
Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell,
Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch,
With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm :
The three gray stones that marked where heroes lay,
Mourned by the harp, mourned by the melting voice
Of Cona, oft his resting place had been ;
Oft had they told him that his home was near :
The tinkle of the rill, the murmuring
So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush,
The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar,
The echo's answer to his foot or voice,—
All spoke a language which he understood,
All warned him of his way. But most he feels,
Upon the hallowed morn, the saddening change :
No more he hears the gladsome village bell
32 the sabbatii.
Ring the blest summons to the house of God:
And,—for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, gram
That cheered his darkling path, as with slow step
And feeble, he toiled up the spire-topt hill,—
A few faint notes ascend among the trees.
What though the clustered vine there hardly tempt
The traveller's hand ; though birds of dazzling plum
Perch on the loaded boughs :—Give me thy woods,
(Exclaims the banished man), thy barren woods,
Poor Scotland ! sweeter there the reddening haw,
The sloe, or rowan's * bitter bunch, than here
The purple grape ; dearer the red-breast's note,
That mourns the fading year in Scotia's vales,
Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new ;
More dear to me the red-breast's sober suit,
So like a withered leaflet, than the glare
Of gaudy wings, that make the Iris dim."
■ Mountain-ash.
THE SABBATH.
33
Nor is regret exclusive to the old :
The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main,
A ship his cradle, by the billows rocked,—
" The nursling of the storm,"—although he claims
No native land, yet does he wistful hear
Of some far distant country still called home,
Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills ;
Where gold-specked fishes wanton in the streams ;
Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air,
Light on the floor, and peck the table-crumbs,
And with their singing cheer the winter day.
But what the loss of country to the woes
Of banishment and solitude combined ?
Oh ! my heart bleeds to think there now may live
One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck,
Cast on some desert island of that main
Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore
To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,
c
34< THE SABBATH.
As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days,
With wandering eye, o'er all the watery waste ;
Now striving to believe the albatross
A sail appearing on the horizon's verge ;
Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope
Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours,
Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time
Upon the shell-notched calendar to mark
Another day, another dreary day,—
Changeless,—for, in these regions of the sun,
The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil,
Bestowing grateful interchange of rest
And labour, is annulled; for there the trees,
Adorned at once with bud, and flower, and fruit,
Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread
And blossoms on the ground : But yet by him,
The Hermit of the Deep, not unobserved
The Sabbath passes.—'Tis his great delight,
Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray,
THE SABBATH.
35
And loves, and sighs to think,—that setting sun
Is now empurpling Scotland's mountain-tops,
Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales,
Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat
Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below
Chaunt in the dewy shade. Thus all night long
He watches, while the rising moon describes
The progress of the day in happier lands.
And now he almost fancies that he hears
The chiming from his native village church ;
And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain
May be the same that sweet ascends at home
In congregation full,—where, not without a tear,
They are remembered who in ships behold
The wonders of the deep * : he sees the hand,
The widowed hand, that veils the eye suffused ;
" " They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in
great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in
the deep."—Psal. cvii.
c 2
36 THE SABBATH.
He sees his orphan'd boy look up, and strive
The widowed heart to soothe. His spirit leans
On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil,
Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves
On winds of cloudless wing *; though lightnings burst
So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen
In awful alternation : Calm he views
The far-exploding firmament, and dares
To hope—one bolt in mercy is reserved
For his release; and yet he is resigned
To live ; because full well he is assured,
Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds t.
And thy right hand does lead him. Lo ! at last,
* In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often without
a cloud.
•f " If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the utter¬
most parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy
right hand shall hold me,"—Psal. cxxxix.
THE SABBATH.
37
One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep,
Music remote, swelling at intervals,
As if the embodied spirit of sweet sounds
Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave :
The cadence well he knows,—a hymn of old,
Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state
Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced
In midnight music, by an angel choir,
To Bethlehem's shepherds *, as they watch'd their
flocks.
" " And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in
the field, keeping watch over their flecks by night. And, lo ! the
angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone
round about them, and they were sore afraid, And the angel said
unto them, Fear not, for, behold ! 1 bring you good tidings of great
joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in
the city of David, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this
shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swad¬
dling-clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with
the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and say¬
ing, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to¬
ward men."—Luke ii. 8.—14.
88 THE SABBATH.
Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks
It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell.
He looks, and starts to see, moving along,
A fiery wave *, (so seems it), crescent formed,
Approaching to the land; straightway he sees
A towering whiteness ; 'tis the heaven-filled sails
That waft the missioned men, who have renounced
Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world,
Bearing glad tidings to the farthest isles
Of ocean, that the dead shall rise again.
Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides.
It seems as it would pass away. To cry
The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain,
Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream :
• " In some seas, as particularly about the coast of Malabar,
as a ship floats along, it seems during the night to be surrounded
with fire, and to leave a long tract of light behind it. Whenever
the sea is gently agitated, it seems converted into little stars ; every
drop as it breaks emits light, like bodies electritied in the dark."—
Darwin.
THE SABBATH. 39
Not so his hand: he strikes the flint,—a blaze
Mounts from the ready heap of withered leaves :
The music ceases, accents harsh succeed,
Harsh, but most grateful: downward drop the sails ;
Ingulphed the anchor sinks ; the boat is launched;
But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn :
O then the transport of the man, unused
To other human voice beside his own,—
His native tongue to hear! he breathes at home,
Though earth's diameter is interposed.
Of perils of the sea he has no dread,
Full well assured the missioned bark is safe,
Field in the hollow of the Almighty's hand.
(And signal thy deliverances have been
Of these thy messengers of peace and joy.)
From storms that loudly threaten to unfix
Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed,
Thou dost deliver them,—and from the calm,
More dreadful than the storm, when motionless
40
THE SABBATH.
Upon the purple deep the vessel lies
For days, for nights, illumed by phosphor lamps;
When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float;
When backward starts the boldest mariner
To see, while o'er the side he leans, his face
As if deep-tinged with blood.—
Let worldly men
The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn,
And call fanatics them, who hazard health
And life, in testifying of the truth;
Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ!
What were the Galilean fishermen
But messengers, commissioned to announce
The resurrection, and the life to come !
They too, though clothed with power of mighty works
Miraculous, were oft received with scorn ;
Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced
By deeds that marked Omnipotence their friend :
But, when their efforts failed, unweariedly
THE SABBATH.
41
They onward went, rejoicing in their course.
Like helianthus *, borne on downy wings
To distant realms, they frequent fell on soils
Barren and thankless ; yet oft-times they saw
Their labours crowned with fruit an hundred fold,
Saw the new converts testify their faith
By works of love,—the slave set free, the sick
Attended, prisoners visited, the poor
Received as brothers at the rich man's board.
Alas ! how different now the deeds of men
Nursed in the faith of Christ!—the free, made slaves !
Torn from their country, borne across the deep,
Enchained, endungeoned, forced by stripes to live,
Doomed to behold their wives, their little ones,
Trembling beneath the white man's fiend-like frown !
Yet even to scenes like these, the Sabbath brings
" Sun flower. " The seeds of many plants of this kind are
furnished with a plume, by which admirable mechanism they are
disseminated far from their parent stem."—Darwin.
42
THE SABBATH.
Alleviation of the enormous woe :—
The oft-reiterated stroke is still;
The clotted scourge hangs hardening in the shrouds.
But see, the demon man, whose trade is blood,
With dauntless front, convene his ruffian crew,
To hear the sacred service read. Accursed,
The wretch's bile-tinged lips profane the word
Of God: Accursed, he ventures to pronounce
The decalogue, nor faulters at that law,
Wherein 'tis written, Thou shalt do no murder •*
Perhaps, while yet the words are on his lips,
He hears a dying mother's parting groan ;
He hears her orphan'd child, with lisping plaint,
Attempt to rouse her from the sleep of death.
O England! England ! wash thy purpled hands
Of this foul sin, and never dip them more
In guilt so damnable ! then lift them up
In supplication to that God, whose name
THE SABBATH.
43
Is Mercy ; then thou may'st, without the risk
Of drawing vengeance from the surcharged clouds,
Implore protection to thy menaced shores ;
Then God will blast the tyrant's arm that grasps
The thunderbolt of ruin o'er thy head ;
Then will he turn the wolvish race to prey
Upon each other; then will he arrest
The lava torrent, causing it regorge
Back to its source with fiery desolation.
Of all the murderous trades by mortals plied,
'Tis War alone that never violates
The hallowed day by simulate respect,—
By hypocritic rest: No, no, the work proceeds.
From sacred pinnacles are hung the flags*,
That give the sign to slip the leash from slaughter.
" Church steeples arc frequently used as signal-posts.
44 THE SABBATH.
The bells, whose knoll a holy calmness poured
Into the good man's breast,—whose sound solaced
The sick, the poor, the old—perversion dire—
I'ealing with sulphurous tongue, speak death-fraught
words:
From morn to eve Destruction revels frenzied,
Till at the hour when peaceful vesper-chimes
Were wont to soothe the ear, the trumpet sounds
Pursuit and flight altern ; and for the song
Of larks, descending to their grass-bowered homes,
The croak of flesh-gorged ravens, as they slake
Their thirst in hoof-prints filled with'gore, disturbs
The stupor of the dying man ; while Death
Triumphantly sails down the ensanguined stream.
On corses throned, and crowned with shivered boughs,
That erst hung imaged in the crystal tide *.
" After a heavy cannonade, the shivered branches of trees, and
the corpses of the killed, are seen floating together down the rivers.
THE SABBATH.
45
And what the harvest of these bloody fields ?
A double weight of fetters to the slave.
And chains on arms that wielded Freedom's sword.
Spirit of Teli. ! and art thou doomed to see
Thy mountains, that confessed no other chains
Than what the wintry elements had forged,—
Thy vales, where Freedom, and her stern compeer,
Proud virtuous Poverty, their noble state
Maintained, amid surrounding threats of wealth,
Of superstition, and tyrannic sway
Spirit of Tell ! and art thou doomed to see
That land subdued by slavery's basest slaves ;
By men, whose lips pronounce the sacred name
Of Liberty, then kiss the despot's foot ?
Helvetia ! hadst thou to thyself been true,
Thy dying sons had triumphed as they fell :
But 'twas a glorious effort, though in vain.
Aloft thy Genius, 'mid the sweeping clouds,
The flag of freedom spread ; bright in the storm
46
THE SABBATH.
The streaming meteor waved, and far it gleamed ;
But, ah ! 'twas transient as the Iris' arch,
Glanced from Leviathan's ascending shower,
When mid the mountain waves heaving his head.
Already had the friendly-seeming foe
Possessed the snow-piled ramparts of the land :
Down like an avalanche they rolled, they crushed
The temple, palace, cottage, every work
Of art and nature, in one common ruin.
The dreadful crush is o'er, and peace ensues,—
The peace of desolation, gloomy, still :
Each day is hushed as Sabbath ; but, alas !
No Sabbath-service glads the seventh day !
No more the happy villagers are seen,
Winding adown the rock-hewn paths, that wont
To lead their footsteps to the house of prayer;
But, far apart, assembled in the depth
Of solitudes, perhaps a little groupe
Of aged men, and orphan boys, and maids
the sabbath. 47
Bereft, list to the breathings of the holy man,
Who spurns an oath of fealty to the power
Of rulers chosen by a tyrant's nod.
No more, as dies the rustling of the breeze,
Is heard the distant vesper-hymn ; no more
At gloamin hour, the plaintive strain, that links
His country to the Switzer's heart, delights
The loosening team ; or if some shepherd boy
Attempt the strain, his voice soon faultering stops ;
He feels his country now a foreign land.
O Scotland ! canst thou for a moment brook
The mere imagination, that a fate
Like this should e'er be thine ! that o'er these hills
And dear-bought vales, whence Wallace, Douglas,
Bruce,
Repelled proud Edward's multitudinous hordes,
A Gallic foe, that abject race, should rule !
No, no ! let never hostile standard touch
48
TIIE SABBATH.
Thy shore: rush, rush into the dashing brine,
And crest each wave with steel; and should the stamp
Of Slavery's footstep violate the strand,
Let not the tardy tide efface the mark ;
Sweep off the stigma with a sea of blood !
Thrice happy he who, far in Scottish glen
Retired, (yet ready at his country's call),
Has left the restless emmet-hill of man !
He never longs to read the saddening tale
Of endless wars ; and seldom does he hear
The tale of woe; and ere it reaches him,
Rumour, so loud when new, has died away
Into a whisper, on the memory borne
Of casual traveller:—as on the deep,
Far from the sight of land, when all around
Is waveless calm, the sudden tremulous swell,
That gently heaves the ship, tells, as it rolls,
Of earthquakes dread, and cities overthrown.
the sabbath.
O Scotland ! much I love thy tranquil dales
But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun
Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight,
Wandering, and stopping oft, to hear the song
Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs;
Or, when the simple service ends, to hear
The lifted latch, and mark the gray-haired man,
The father and the priest, walk forth alone
Into his garden-plat, or little field,
To commune with his God in secret prayer,—
To bless the Lord, that in his downward years
His children are about him : Sweet, meantime,
The thrush, that sings upon the aged thorn,
Brings to his view the days of youthful years,
When that same aged thorn was but a bush.
Nor is the contrast between youth and age
To him a painful thought; he joys to think
His journey near a close,—heaven is his home.
More happy far that man, though bowed down,
n
50
THE SABBATH.
Though feeble be his gait, and dim his eye,
Than they, the favourites of youth and health,
Of riches, and of fame, w ho have renounced
The glorious promise of the life to come,—
Clinging to death.
Or mark that female face,
The faded picture of its former self,—
The garments coarse, but clean ;—frequent at church
I've noted such a one, feeble and pale,
Yet standing, with a look of mild content,
Till beckoned by some kindly hand to sit.
She has seen better days ; there was a time,
Her hands could earn her bread, and freely give
To those who were in want; but now old age,
And lingering disease, have made her helpless.
Yet she is happy, aye, and she is wise,
(Philosophers may sneer, and pedants frown),
Although her Bible is her only book ;
And she is rich, although her only wealth
THE SABBATH. 51
Is recollection of a well-spent life—
Is expectation of the life to come.
Examine here, explore the narrow path
In which she walks ; look not for virtuous deeds
In history's arena, where the prize
Of fame, or power, prompts to heroic acts.
Peruse the lives themselves of men obscure:—
There charity, that robs itself to give ;
There fortitude in sickness, nursed by want;
There courage, that expects no tongue to praise;
There virtue lurks, like purest gold deep hid,
With no alloy of selfish motive mixed.
The poor man's boon, that stints him of his bread,
Is prized more highly in the sight of Him
Who sees the heart, than golden gifts from hands
That scarce can know their countless treasures less * :
* " And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how
the people cast money into the treasury ; and many that were rich
52
THE SABBATH.
Yea, the deep sigh that heaves the poor man's breast
To see distress, and feel his willing arm
Palsied by penury, ascends to heaven ;
While ponderous bequests of lands and goods
Ne'er rise above their earthly origin.
And should all bounty, that is clothed with power,
Be deemed unworthy ?—Far be such a thought!
Even when the rich bestow, there are sure tests
Of genuine charity : Yes, yes, let wealth
Give other alms than silver or than gold,—
Time, trouble, toil, attendance, watchfulness,
cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she
threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto
him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily, 1 say unto you, that
this poor widow hath cast more in than all they which have cast
into the treasury : For all they did cast in of their abundance, but
she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living."—
Mark xii. 41—44.
THE SABBATH. 53
Exposure to disease ;—yes, let the rich
Be often seen beneath the sick man's roof;
Or cheering, with inquiries from the heart,
And hopes of health, the melancholy range
Of couches in the public wards of woe:
There let them often bless the sick man's bed,
With kind assurances that all is well
At home ; that plenty smiles upon the board,—
The while the hand, that earned the frugal meal,
Can hardly raise itself in sign of thanks.
Above all duties, let the rich man search
Into the cause he knoweth not, nor spurn
The suppliant wretch as guilty of a crime.
Ye blessed with wealth ! (another name for power
Of doing good), O would ye but devote
A little portion of each seventh day,
To acts of justice to your fellow men 3
The house of mourning silently invites :
54
l'HE SABBATH.
Shun not the crowded alley ; prompt descend
Into the half-sunk cell, darksome and damp ;
Nor seem impatient to be gone: Inquire,
Console, instruct, encourage, soothe, assist;
Read, pray, and sing a new song to the Lord;
Make tears of joy down grief-worn furrows flow.
O Health ! thou sun of life, without whose beam
The fairest scenes of nature seem involved
In darkness, shine upon my dreary path
Once more; or, with thy faintest dawn, give hope,
That I may yet enjoy thy vital ray!
Though transient be the hope, 'twill be most sweet,
Like midnight music, stealing on the ear,
Then gliding past, and dying slow away.
Music ! thou soothing power, thy charm is proved
Most vividly when clouds o'ercast the soul;—
So light its loveliest effect displays
In lowering skies, when through the murky rack
the sabbath.
55
A slanting snn-beam shoots, and instant limns
The etherial curve of seven harmonious dyes,
Eliciting a splendour from the gloom:
O Music ! still vouchsafe to tranquillize
This breast perturbed ; thy voice, though mournful,
soothes ■
And mournful ay are thy most beauteous lays,
Like fall of blossoms from the orchard boughs,—
The autumn of the spring. Enchanting power !
Who, by thy airy spell, canst whirl the mind
Far from the busy haunts of men, to vales
Where Tweed or Yarrow flows ; or, spurning time,
Recal red Flodden field; or suddenly
Transport, with altered strain, the deafened ear
To Linden's plain !—But what the pastoral lay,
The melting dirge, the battle's trumpet-peal,
Compared to notes with sacred numbers linked
In union, solemn, grand ! O then the spirit
Upborne on pinions of celestial sound,
56
THE SABBATH.
Soars to the throne of God, and ravished hears
Ten thousand times ten thousand voices rise
In halleluias,—voices, that erewhile
Were feebly tuned perhaps to low-breathed hymns
Of solace in the chambers of the poor,—
The Sabbath worship of the friendless sick.
Blest be the female votaries, whose days
No Sabbath of their pious labours prove,
Whose lives are consecrated to the toil
Of ministering around the uncurtained couch
Of pain and poverty ! Blest be the hands,
The lovely hands, (for beauty, youth, and grace,
Are oft concealed by Pity's closest veil),
That mix the cup medicinal, that bind
The wounds, which ruthless warfare and desease
Have to the loathsome lazar-house consigned.
Fierce Superstition of the mitred king!
THE SABBATH. 57
Almost I could forget thy torch and stake,
When I this blessed sisterhood survey,—
Compassion's priestesses, disciples true
Of Him, -whose touch was health, whose single word
Electrified with life the palsied arm,—
Of him who said, Take up thy bed and rvalk,—
Of him who cried to Lazarus, Come forth.
And he who cried to Lazarus, Come forth,
Will, when the Sabbath of the tomb is past,
Call forth the dead, and re-unite the dust
(Transformed and purified) to angel souls.
Extatic hope ! belief! conviction firm !
How grateful 'tis to recollect the time
When hope arose to faith ! Faintly at first,
The heavenly voice is heard; then, by degrees,
Its music sounds perpetual in the heart-
Thus he, who all the gloomy winter long
Has dwelt in city crowds, wandering afield
58
THE SABBATH.
Betimes on Sabbath morn, ere yet the spring
Unfold the daisy's bud, delighted hears
The first lark's note, faint yet, and short the song,
Checked by the chill ungenial northern breeze;
But, as the sun ascends, another springs,
And still another soars on loftier wing,
Till all o'erhead, the joyous choir unseen,
Poised welkin high, harmonious fills the air,
As if it were a link 'tween earth and heaven.
SABBATH WALKS.
A
SPRING SABBATH WALK.
IVEost earnest was his voice ! most mild his look,
As with raised hands he blessed his parting flock.
He is a faithful pastor of the poor ;—
He thinks not of himself; his Master's words,
Feed, feed my sheep *, are ever at his heart,
The cross of Christ is ay before his eyes.
" " So when he had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon,
son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these ? He saith unto him,
Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him.
Feed my lambs. He saith unto him again the second time, Simon,
son of Jonas, lovest thou me ? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord,
thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep.
He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou
62
A SPUING SABBATH WALK.
O, how I love, with melted soul, to leave
The house of prayer, and wander in the fields
Alone ! What though the opening spring be chill !
Although the lark, checked in his airy path
Eke out his song, perched on the fallow clod,
That still o'ertops the blade! Although no branch
Have spread its foliage, save the willow wand,
That dips its pale leaves in the swollen stream !
What tho' the clouds oft lower ! Their threats but end
In sunny showers, that scarcely fill the folds
Of moss-couched violet, or interrupt
The merle's dulcet pipe,—melodious bird !
He, hid behind the milk-white sloe-thorn spray,
(Whose early flowers anticipate the leaf),
Welcomes the time of buds, the infant year.
me ? Peter was grieved, because he said unto him the third time,
Lovest thou me ? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all
things, thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed
my sheep."—john xxi. 1.1—17.
A SPRING SABBATH WALK.
63
Sweet is the sunny nook, to which my steps
Have brought me, hardly conscious where I roamed,
Unheeding where,—so lovely all around,
The works of God, arrayed in vernal smile.
Oft at this season, musing, I prolong
My devious range, till, sunk from view, the sun
Emblaze, with upward-slanting ray, the breast,
And wing unquivering of the wheeling lark,
Descending, vocal, from her latest flight;
While, disregardful of yon lonely star,—
The harbinger of chill night's glittering host,—
Sweet Red-breast, Scotia's Philomela, chaunts,
In desultory strains, his evening hymn.
CI
a
SUMMER SABBATH WALK.
Delightful is this loneliness ; it calms
My heart: pleasant the cool beneath these elms,
That throw across the stream a moveless shade.
Here nature in her midnoon whisper speaks:
How peaceful every sound !—the ring-dove's plaint,
Moaned from the twilight centre of the grove,
While every other woodland lay is mute,
Save when the wren flits from her down-coved nest,
And from the root-sprig trills her ditty clear,—
The grasshopper's oft-pausing chirp,—the buzz,
Angrily shrill, of moss-entangled bee,
A SUMMER SABBATH WALK.
65
That, soon as loosed, booms with full twang away,—
The sudden rushing of the minnow shoal,
Scared from the shallows by my passing tread.
Dimpling the water glides, with here and there
A glossy fly, skimming in circlets gay
The treacherous surface, while the quick-eyed trout
Watches his time to spring; or, from above,
Some feathered dam, purveying midst the boughs,
Darts from her perch, and to her plumeless brood
Bears off the prize :—sad emblem of man's lot !
He, giddy insect, from his native leaf,
(Where safe and happily he might have lurked),
Elate upon ambition's gaudy wings,
Forgetful of his origin, and, worse,
Unthinking of his end, flies to the stream;
And if from hostile vigilance he 'scape,
Buoyant he flutters but a little while,
Mistakes the inverted image of the sky
For heaven itself, and, sinking, meets his fate.
E
60
A SUMMER SABBATH WALK
Now let me trace the stream up to its source
Among the hills ; its runnel by degrees
Diminishing, the murmur turns a tinkle.
Closer and closer still the banks approach,
Tangled so thick with pleaching bramble-shoots,
With brier, and hazel branch, and hawthorn spray,
That, fain to quit the dingle, glad I mount
Into the open air : Grateful the breeze
That fans my throbbing temples ! smiles the plain
Spread wide below : how sweet the placid view !
ButO! more sweetthe thought, heart-soothing thought,
That thousands, and ten thousands of the sons
Of toil, partake this day the common joy
Of rest, of peace, of viewing hill and dale,
Of breathing in the silence of the woods,
And blessing Him, who gave the Sabbath day.
Yes, my heart flutters with a freer throb,
To think that now the townsman wanders forth
Among the fields and meadows, to enjoy
a summer sabbath walk.
07
The coolness of the day's decline; to see
His children sport around, and simply pull
The flower and weed promiscuous, as a boon,
Which proudly in his breast they smiling fix.
Again I turn me to the hill, and trace
The wizard stream, now scarce to be discerned;
Woodless its banks, but green with ferny leaves,
And thinly strewed with heath-bells up and down.
Now, when the downward sun has left the glens,
Each mountain's rugged lineaments are traced
Upon the adverse slope, where stalks gigantic
The shepherd's shadow thrown athwart the chasm,
As on the topmost ridge he homeward hies.
How deep the hush ! the torrent's channel, dry,
Presents a stony steep, the echo's haunt.
Rut hark, a plaintive sound floating along !
'Tis from yon heath-roofed shielin ; now it dies
e 2
68
A SUMMER SABBATH WALK.
Away, now rises full; it is the song
Which He,—who listens to the halleluiahs
Of choiring Seraphim,—delights to hear ;
It is the music of the heart, the voice
Of venerable age,—of guileless youth,
In kindly circle seated on the ground
Before their wicker door : Behold the man 1
The grandsire and the saint; his silvery locks
Beam in the parting ray; before him lies,
Upon the smooth-cropt sward, the open book,
His comfort, stay, and ever new delight !
While, heedless, at his side, the lisping boy
Fondles the lamb that nightly shares his couch.
m
an
AUTUMN SABBATH WALK.
VY hen homeward bands their several ways disperse,
I love to linger in the narrow field
Of rest; to wander round from tomb to tomb,
And think of some who silent sleep below.
Sad sighs the wind, that from those ancient elms
Shakes showers of leaves upon the withered grass :
The sere and yellow wreaths, with eddying sweep,
Fill up the furrows 'tween the hillocked graves.
But list that moan ! 'tis the poor blind man's dog,
His guide for many a day, now come to mourn
The master and the friend—conjunction rare !
70
AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK.
A man he was indeed of gentle soul,
Though bred to brave the deep : the lightning's flash
Had dimmed, not closed, his mild, but sightless eyes.
He was a welcome guest through all his range;
(It was not wide :) no dog would bay at him :
Children would run to meet him on his way,
And lead him to a sunny seat, and climb
His knee, and wonder at his oft-told tales.
Then would he teach the elfins how to plait
The rushy cap and crown, or sedgy ship ;
And I have seen him lay his tremulous hand
Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips.
Peace to thy spirit! that now looks on me,
Perhaps with greater pity than I felt
To see thee wandering darkling on thy way.
But let me quit this melancholy spot,
And roam where nature gives a parting smile.
As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod
AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK.
71
That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods
A second blow of many flowers appears ;
Flowers faintly tinged, and breathing no perfume.
But fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreath,
That circles Autumn's brow : The ruddy haws
Now clothe the half-leaved thorn ; the bramble bends
Beneath its jetty load ; the hazel hangs
With auburn branches, dipping in the stream
That sweeps along, and threatens to o'erflow
The leaf-strewn banks : Oft, statue-like, I gaze,
In vacancy of thought, upon that stream,
And chase, with dreaming eye, the eddying foam;
Or rowan's clustered branch, or harvest sheaf,
Borne rapidly adown the dizzying flood.
72
*
WINTER SABBATH WALK.
How dazzling white the snowy scene ! deep, deep,
The stillness of the winter Sabbath day,—
Not even a foot-fall heard.—Smooth are the fields,
Each hollow pathway level with the plain:
Hid are the bushes, save that, here and there,
Are seen the topmost shoots of brier or broom.
High-ridged, the whirled drift has almost reached
The powdered key-stone of the church-yard porch.
Mute hangs the hooded bell; the tombs lie buried ;
No step approaches to the house of prayer.
A WINTER SABBATH WALK.
The flickering fall is o'er ; the clouds disperse,
And shew the sun, hung o'er the welkin's verge,
Shooting a bright but ineffectual beam
On all the sparkling waste. Now is the time
To visit nature in her grand attire ;
Though perilous the mountainous ascent,
A noble recompense the danger brings.
How beautiful the plain stretched far below !
Unvaried though it be, save by yon stream
With azure windings, or the leafless wood.
But what the beauty of the plain, compared
To that sublimity which reigns enthroned,
Holding joint rule with solitude divine,
Among yon rocky fells, that bid defiance
To steps the most adventurously bold !
There silence dwells profound ; or if the cry
Of high-poised eagle break at times the calm,
The mantled echoes no response return.
74 A WINTER SABBATH WALK.
But let me now explore the deep sunk dell.
No foot-print, save the covey's or the flock's,
Is seen along the rill, where marshy springs
Still rear the grassy blade of vivid green.
Beware, ye shepherds, of these treacherous haunts,
Nor linger there too long: the wintry day
Soon closes ; and full oft a heavier fall,
Heaped by the blast, fills up the sheltered glen,
While, gurgling deep below, the buried rill
Mines for itself a snow-coved way. O ! then,
Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot,
And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side,
Where night-winds sweep the gathering driftaway :—
—So the great Shepherd leads the heavenly flock
From faithless pleasures, full into the storms
Of life, where long they bear the bitter blast,
Until at length the vernal sun looks forth,
Bedimmed with showers : Then to the pastures green
He brings them, where the quiet waters glide,
The streams of life, the Siloah of the soul.
BIBLICAL PICTURES.
the
FIRST SABBATH.
Six days the heavenly host, in circle vast,
Like that untouching cincture which enzones
The globe of Saturn, compassed wide this orb,
And with the forming mass floated along,
In rapid course, through yet untravelled space,
Beholding God's stupendous power,—a world
Bursting from Chaos at the omnific will,
And perfect ere the sixth day's evening star
On Paradise arose. Blessed that eve !
The Sabbath's harbinger, when, all complete,
In freshest beauty from Jehovah's hand,
Creation bloomed ; when Eden's twilight face
78
THE FIKST SABBATH.
Smiled like a sleeping babe: The voice divine
A holy calm breathed o'er the goodly work :
Mildly the sun, upon the loftiest trees,
Shed mellowly a sloping beam. Peace reigned,
And love, and gratitude ; the human pair
Their orisons poured forth ; love, concord, reigned.
The falcon, perched upon the blooming bough
With Philomela, listened to her lay ;
Among the antlered herd, the tyger couched
Harmless ; the lion's mane no terror spread
Among the careless ruminating flock.
Silence was o'er the deep ; the noiseless surge,
The last subsiding wave,—of that dread tumult
Which raged, when Ocean, at the mute command,
Pushed furiously into his new-cleft bed,—
Was gently rippling on the pebbled shore ;
While, on the swell, the sea-bird with her head
Wing-veiled, slept tranquilly. The host of heaven,
Entranced in new delight, speechless adored ;
THE FIRST SABBATH.
79
Nor stopped their fleet career, nor changed their form
Encircular, till on that hemisphere,—
In which the blissful garden sweet exhaled
Its incense, odorous clouds,—the Sabbath dawn
Arose; then wide the flying circle oped,
And soared, in semblance of a mighty rainbow.
Silent ascend the choirs of Seraphim ;
No harp resounds, mute is each voice ; the burst
Of joy and praise, reluctant they repress,—
For love and concord all things so attuned
To harmony, that Earth must have received
The grand vibration, and to the centre shook :
But soon as to the starry altitudes
They reached, then what a storm of sound, tremendous,
Swelledthroughtherealmsof space! Themorningstars-
Together sang, and all the sons of God
Shouted for joy ! Loud was the peal; so loud
As would have quite o'erwhelmed human sense
But to the earth it came a gentle strain,
80
THE FIRST SABBATH.
Like softest fall breathed from TKolian lute,
When 'mid the chords the evening gale expires.
Day of the Lord ! creation's hallowed close !
Day of the Lord ! (prophetical they sang)
Benignant mitigation of that doom,
Which must, ere long, consign the fallen race,
Dwellers in yonder star, to toil and woe!
SI
the
FINDING OF MOSES.
Slow glides the Nile: amid the margin flags,
Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left,—
Left by a mother's hand. His sister waits
Far off"; and pale, 'tween hope and fear, beholds
The royal maid, surrounded by her train,
Approach the river bank,—approach the spot
Where sleeps the innocent: She sees them stoop
With meeting plumes ; the rushy lid is oped,
And wakes the infant, smiling in his tears,
As when along a little mountain lake,
The summer south-wind breathes, with gentle sigh,
And parts the reeds, unveiling, as they bend,
A water-lily floating on the wave.
f
82
JACOB AND PHARAOH.
pharaoh upon a gorgeous throne of state
Was seated ; while around him stood submiss
His servants, watchful of his lofty looks.
The Patriarch enters, leaning on the arm
Of Benjamin. Unmoved by all the glare
Of royalty, he scarcely throws a glance
Upon the pageant show ; for from his youth
A shepherd's life he led, and viewed each night
The starry host; and still, where'er he went,
He felt himself in presence of the Lord.
His eye is bent on Joseph, him pursues.
Sudden the king descends ; and, bending, kneels
Before the aged man, and supplicates
jacob and pharaoh,
83
A blessing from his lips! the aged man
Lays on the ground his staff, and stretching forth
His tremulous hand o'er Pharaoh's uncrowned head,
Prays that the Lord would bless him and his land.
f 2
8+
JEPHTHA'S VOW.
from conquest Jephtha came, with faultering step
And troubled eye : His home appears in view ;
He trembles at the sight. Sad he forbodes,—
His vow will meet a victim in his child:
For well he knows, that, from her earliest years,
She still was first to meet his homeward steps :
Well he remembers, how, with tottering gait,
She ran, and clasped his knees, and lisped, and looked
Her joy ; and how, when garlanding with flowers
His helm, fearful, her infant hand would shrink
Back from the lion couched beneath the crest.
What sound is that, which, from the palm-tree grove,
JEPHTIIA'S VOW.
85
Floats now with choral swell, now fainter falls
Upon the ear ? It is, it is the song
He loved to hear,—a song of thanks and praise,
Sung by the patriarch for his ransomed son.
Hope from the omen springs: O, blessed hope!
It may not be her voice !—Fain would he think
'Twas not his daughter's voice, that still approached,
Blent with the timbrel's note. Forth from the grove
She foremost glides of all the minstrel band:
Moveless he stands ; then grasps his hilt still red
With hostile gore, but, shuddering, quits the hold ;
And clasps in agony his hands, and cries,
" Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought me low."—
The timbrel at her rooted feet resounds.
80
SAUL AND DAVID.
JDeep was the furrow in the royal brow,
When David's hand, lightly as vernal gales
Rippling the brook of Kedron, skimmed the lyre :
He sung of Jacob's youngest born,—the child
Of his old age,—sold to the Ishmaelite;
His exaltation to the second power
In Pharaoh's realm; his brethren thither sent;
Suppliant they stood before his face, well known,
Unknowing,—till Joseph fell upon the neck
Of Benjamin, his mother's son, and wept.
Unconsciously the warlike shepherd paused ;
But when he saw, down the yet quivering string,
SAUL AND DAVID.
87
The tear-drop trembling glide, abashed, he checked,
Indignant at himself, the bursting flood,
And, with a sweep impetuous, struck the chords :
From side to side his hands transversely glance,
Like lightning 'thwart a stormy sea; his voice
Arises 'mid the clang, and straightway calms
The harmonious tempest, to a solemn swell
Majestical, triumphant; for he sings
Of Arad's mighty host by Israel's arm
Subdued; of Israel through the desert led,
He sings ; of him who was their leader, called
By God himself, from keeping Jetiiro's flock,
To be a ruler o'er the chosen race.
Kindles the eye of Saul ; his arm is poised ;—
Harmless the javelin quivers in the wall.
88
ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS.
Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds
Of Israel, when Elijah, by command
Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook.
No rain-drops fall, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn,
Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale;
The withering herbage dies ; among the palms
The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale
An autumn rustle ; no sweet songster's lay
Is warbled from the branches ; scarce is heard
The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around,
And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head
Upon the flowerless bank; serene he sleeps,
ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS. 89
Nor wakes till dawning : then with hands enclasped,
And heavenward face, and eye-lids closed, he prays
To Him who manna on the desert showered,
To Him who from the rock made fountains gush:
Entranced the man of God remains; till roused
By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart,
He sees the ravens fearless by his side
Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food.
90
the
BIRTH OF JESUS ANNOUNCED.
Deep was the midnight silence in the fields
Of Bethlehem ; hushed the folds ; save that at times
Was heard the lamb's faint bleat; the shepherds,
stretched
On the green sward, surveyed the starry vault.
The heavens declare the glory of the Lord,
The firmament shews forth thy handy work:
Thus they, their hearts attuned to the "Most High ;—
When suddenly a splendid cloud appeared,
As if a portion of the milky way
THE BIRTH OF JESUS.
91
Descended slowly in the spiral course.
Near and more near it draws ■ then, hovering, floats
High as the soar of eagle, shedding bright,
Upon the folded flocks, a heavenly radiance,
From whence was uttered loud, yet sweet, a voice,—
Fear not, I bring good tidings of great joy >
For unto you is born this day a Saviour !
And this shall be a sign to you,—the babe,
Laid lowly in a manger, ye shall find.—
The angel spake ; when, lo ! upon the cloud,
A multitude of Seraphim, enthroned,
Sang praises, saying,—Glory to the Lord
On high >' on earth be peace, good will to men.
With sweet response harmoniously they choired,
And while, with heavenly harmony, the song
Arose to God, more bright the buoyant throne
Illumed the land: the prowling lion stops,
Awe-struck, with mane upreared, and flattened head ;
And, without turning, backward on his steps
92
THE BIRTII OF JESUS.
Recoils, aghast, into the desert gloom.
A trembling joy the astonished shepherds prove.
As heavenward re-ascends the vocal blaze
Triumphantly ; while by degrees the strain
Dies on the ear, that self-deluded listens,—
As if a sound so sweet could never die.
93
I
BEHOLD
MY MOTHER AND MY BRETHREN.
IV HO is my mother, or my brethren ?
He spake, and looked on them who sat around,
With a meek smile, of pity blent with love,
More melting than e'er gleamed from human face,—
As when a sun-beam, through a summer shower,
Shines mildly on a little hill-side flock;
And with that look of love he said, Behold
My mother and my brethren; for I say,
That whosoe'er shall do the will of God,
He is my brother, sister, mother, all.
94
BARTIMEUS
RESTORED TO SIGHT.
13lind, poor, and helpless Bartimeus sat,
Listening the foot of the wayfaring man,
Still hoping that the next, and still the next.
Would put an alms into his trembling hand.
He thinks he hears the coming breeze faint rustle
Among the sycamores; it is the tread
Of thousand steps ; it is the hum of tongues
Innumerable: But when the sightless man
Heard that the Nazarene was passing by,
He cried, and said,—" Jesus, thou son of David
BARTIMF.US RESTORED TO SIGHT. 95
Have mercy upon me !" and, when rebuked,
He cried the more, " Have mercy upon me !"—
Thy faith hath made thee whole ; so Jesus spake,
And straight the blind beheld the face of God.
98
LITTLE CHILDREN
BROUGHT TO JESUS.
Suffer that little children come to me,
Forbid them not. Emboldened by his words,
The mothers onward press; but finding vain
The attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their babes
To strangers' hands: The innocents alarmed
Amid the throng of faces all unknown,
Shrink, trembling,—till their wandering eyes discern
The countenance of Jesus, beaming love
And pity ; eager then the}' stretch their arms,
And, cowring, lay their heads upon his breast.
97
JESUS
CALMS THE TEMPEST.
The roaring tumult of the billowed sea
Awakes him not: high on the crested surge,
Now heaved, his locks flow streaming in the blast:
And now descending 'tween the sheltering waves,
The falling tresses veil the face divine:
Meek through that veil, a momentary gleam
Benignant shines; he dreams that he beholds
The opening eyes,—that long hopeless had rolled
In darkness,—look around bedimmed with tears
Of joy ; but suddenly the voice of fear
Dispelled the happy vision: Awful he rose,
G
98
JESUS CALMS THE TEMPEST.
Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea,
Peace, be thou still! and straight there was a calm.
With terror-mingled gladness in their looks,
The mariners exclaim,— What man is this,
That even the wind and sea obey his voice !
99
JESUS WALKS ON THE SEA,
and
CALMS THE STORM.
Loud blew the storm of night; the thwarting surge
Dashed, boiling on the labouring bark : dismay,
From face to face reflected, spread around :—
When, lo ! upon a towering wave is seen
The semblance of a foamy wreath, upright,
Move onward to the ship : The helmsman starts,
And quits his hold ; the voyagers, appalled,
Shrink from the fancied Spirit of the Flood :
But when the voiee of Jesus with the storm
100 JESUS WALKS ON THE SEA.
Soft mingled, It is I, be not afraid ;
Fear fled, and joy lightened from eye to eye.
Up he ascends, and, from the rolling side,
Surveys the tumult of the sea and sky
With transient look severe: the tempest, awed,
Sinks to a sudden calm ; the clouds disperse ;
The moon-beam trembles on the face divine,
Reflected mildly in the unruffled deep.
101
the
DUMB CURED.
His eyes uplifted, and his hands close clasped,
The dumb man, with a supplicating look,
Turned as the Lord passed by : Jesus beheld,
And on him bent a pitying look, and spake:
His moving lips are by the suppliant seen,
And the last accents of the healing sentence
Ring in that ear which never heard before.
Prostrate the man restored falls to the earth,
And uses first the gift, the gift sublime
Of speech, in giving thanks to Him, whose voice
Was never uttered but in doing good.
102
THE
DEATH OF JESUS.
Tis finished : he spake the words, and bowed
His head, and died Beholding him far off,
They who had ministered unto him hope
'Tis his last agony: The Temple's vail
Is rent; revealing the most holy place,
Wherein the cherubim their wings extend,
O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God.
Appalled, the leaning soldier feels the spear
Shake in his grasp; the planted standard falls
Upon the heaving ground ; the sun is dimmed,
And darkness shrouds the body of the Lord.
103
the
RESURRECTION.
i he setting orb of night her level ray
Shed o'er the land, and on the dewy sward
The lengthened shadows of the triple cross
Were laid far stretched,—when in the east arose,
Last of the stars, day's harbinger: No sound
Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot:
Within the rock-barred sepulchre, the gloom
Of deepest midnight brooded o'er the dead,
The Holy One : but, lo ! a radiance faint
Began to dawn around his sacred brow :
The linen vesture seemed a snowy wreath,
104 THE it ESU RRECTION.
Drifted by storms into a mountain cave :
Bright and more bright, the circling halo beamed
Upon that face, clothed in a smile benign,
Though yet exanimate. Nor long the reign
Of death; the eyes that wept for human griefs,
Unclose, and look around with conscious joy.
Yes; with returning life, the first emotion
That glowed in Jesus' breast of love, was joy
At man's redemption, now complete ; at death
Disarmed ; the grave transformed into the couch
Of faith ; the resurrection and the life.
Majestical he rose : trembled the earth ;
The ponderous gate of stone was rolled away;
The keepers fell; the angel, awe-struck, sunk
Into invisibility, while forth
The Saviour of the world walked, and stood
Before the sepulchre, and viewed the clouds
Empurpled glorious by the rising sun.
105
JESUS
APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES.
The evening of that day, which saw the Lord
Rise from the chambers of the dead, was come.
His faithful followers, assembled, sang
A hymn, low-breathed ; a hymn of sorrow, blent
With hope ; when, in the midst, sudden he stood.
The awe-struck circle backward shrink ; he looks
Around with a benignant smile of love,
And says, Peace be unto you • faith and joy
Spread o'er each face, amazed : as when the moon,
Pavilioned in dark clouds, mildly comes forth,
Silvering a circlet in the fleecy ranks.
106
PAUL ACCUSED
before the
TRIBUNAL OF THE AREOPAGUS.
Listen that voice! upon the hill of Mars,
Rolling in bolder thunders than e'er pealed
From lips that shook the Macedonian throne;
Behold his dauntless outstretched arm, his face
Illumed of heaven:—he knoweth not the fear
Of man, of principalities, of powers.
The Stoic's moveless frown; the vacant stare
Of Epicurus' herd; the scowl and gnash malign
Of Superstition, stopping both her ears ;
The Areopagite tribunal dread,
From whence the doom of Socrates was uttered ;—
PAUL ACCUSED.
107
This hostile throng dismays him not; he seems
As if no worldly object could inspire
A terror in his soul; as if the vision,
Which, when he journeyed to Damascus, shone
From heaven, still swam before his eyes,
Out-dazzling all things earthly ; as if the voice,
That spake from out the effulgence, ever rang
Within his ear, inspiring him with words,
Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme,—
The resurrection, and the life to come.
108
PAUL ACCUSED
before the
ROMAN GOVERNOR OF JUDEA.
The Judge ascended to the judgment seat;
Amid a gleam of spears the Apostle stood.
Dauntless he forward came., and looked around.
And raised his voice, at first in accents low,
Yet clear ; a whisper spread among the throng :—
So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze
Is heard, at times, to sigh ; but when the peal
Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead
Succeeds each pause,—moveless the aspen leaf.
PAUL ACCUSED.
109
Thus fixed and motionless, the listening band
Of soldiers forward leaned, as from the man,
Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders rolled.
No more he feels, upon his high raised arm,
The ponderous chain, than does the playful child
The bracelet, formed of many a flowery link.
Heedless of self, forgetful that his life
Is now to be defended by his words,
He only thinks of doing good to them
Who seek his life ; and while he reasons high
Of justice, temperance, and the life to come,
The judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
113
PARAPHRASE.
Who healetli all thy diseases; mho redcemetli thy life
from destruction ; mho cromncth thee with loving kind¬
ness and tender mercies.—Psalm ciii. 3. 4.
These eyes, that were half closed in death,
Now dare the noontide blaze ;
My voice, that scarce could speak my wants,
Now hymns Jehovah's praise.
How pleasant to my feet, unused,
To tread the daisied ground !
How sweet to my unwonted ear
The streamlet's lulling sound !
h
114
A PARAPHRASE.
How soft the first breath of the breeze
That on my temples played !
How sweet the woodland evening song,
Full floating down the glade !
But sweeter far the lark that soars
Through morning's blushing ray ;
For then unseen, unheard, I join
His lonely heavenward lay.
And sweeter still that infant voice,
With all its artless charms ;—
'Twas such as he that Jesus took,
And cherished in his arms.
O Lord my God! all these delights
I to thy mercy owe ;
For thou hast raised me from the couch
Of sickness, pain, and woe.
A PARAPHRASE.
115
'Twas thou that from the whelming wave
My sinking soul redeemed;
'Twas thou that o'er destruction's storm
A calming radiance beamed.
h 2
1 If)
ON VISITING MELROSE,
after an absence of sixteen years.
Y"on setting sun, that slowly disappears,
Gleams a momento of departed years :
Aye, many a year is gone, and many a friend,
Since here I saw the autumn sun descend.
Ah ! one is gone, whose hand was locked in mine,
In this, that traces now the sorrowing line :
And now alone I scan the mouldering tombs,
Alone I wander through the vaulted glooms,
And list, as if the echoes might retain
One lingering cadence of her varied strain.
ON VISITING MELROSE.
Alas ! I heard that melting voice decay.
Heard seraph tones in whispers die away;
I marked the tear presageful fill her eye,
And quivering speak,—I am resigned to die.
Ye stars, that through the fretted windows shed
A glimmering beam athwart the mighty dead,
Say to what sphere her sainted spirit flew,
That thither I may turn my longing view,
And wish, and hope, some tedious seasons o'er,
To join a long lost friend, to part no more.
118
THE
WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD.
How calm that little lake ! no breath of wind
Sighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems,
Held in the concave of the inverted sky,—
In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing
Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails
Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood !
Fearless of harm, they row their easy way;
The water-lily, 'neath the plumy prows,
Dips, re-appearing in their dimpled track.
Yet, even amid that scene of peace, the noise
Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes.
THE WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD. 119
Yon revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs,
Boisterous approach; the spaniel dashes in ;
Quick he descries the prey; and faster swims,
And eager barks; the harmless flock, dismayed,
Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds,
All but the parent pair; they, floating, wait
To lure the foe, and lead him from their young;
But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore.
Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm
Arrests their flight; they, fluttering, bleeding fall,
And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake.
1 '20
TO
A REDBREAST,
THAT FLEW IN AT MY WINDOW.
E HOM snowy plains, and icy sprays,
From moonless nights, and sunless days,
Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee;
I love thee, for thou trustest me.
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest!
Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast:—
How quick thy little heart is beating !
As if its brother flutterer greeting.
TO A REDBREAST. 121
Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom ;
No ; freely flutter round my room ;
Perch on my lute's remaining string,
And sweetly of sweet summer sing.
That note, that summer note, I know;
It wakes at once, and soothes my woe ;
I see those woods, I see that stream,
I see,—ah, still prolong the dream!
Still with thy song those scenes renew,
Though through my tears they reach my view.
No more now, at my lonely meal,
While thou art by, alone I'll feel ;
For soon, devoid of all distrust,
Tliou'lt nibbling share my humble crust;
Or on my finger, pert and spruce,
Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice;
And when (our short collation o'er)
Some favourite volume I explore,
122
TO A REDBREAST.
Be't work of poet or of sage,
Safe thou shalt liop across the page;
Unchecked, shalt flit o'er Virgil's groves,
Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves.
Thus, heedless of the raving blast,
Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past;
And when the primrose tells 'tis spring,
And when the thrush begins to sing,
Soon as I hear the woodland song,
Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.
123
EPITAPH
ON A BLACKBIRD KILLED BY A HAWK.
W iNTERwas o'er,and spring-flowers decked the glade;
The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung:
Ah, short-lived note ! the songster now is laid
Beneath the bush on which so sweet he sung.
Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent,
Are now all soiled among the mouldering clay;
A primrosed turf is all thy monument,
And for thy dirge the Redbreast lends his lay.
121-
the
THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.
y"on motley, sable-suited throng, that wait
Around the poor man's door, announce a tale
Of woe; the husband, parent, is no more.
Contending with disease, he laboured long,
By penury compelled ; yielding at last,
He laid him down to die ; but, lingering on
From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw.
Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want
Veiled in a clouded smile; alas! he heard
THE POOH MAN'S FUNERAL. 125
The elder lispingly attempt to still
The younger's plaint,—languid he raised his head,
And thought he yet could toil, but sunk
Into the arms of death, the poor man's friend.
The coffin is borne out; the humble pomp
Moves slowly on; the orphan mourner's hand
(Poor helpless child!) just reaches to the pall.
And now they pass into the field of graves,
And now around the narrow house they stand,
And view the plain black board sink from the sight.
Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds,
As falls each spadeful of the bone-mixed mould.
The turf is spread; uncovered is each head,—
A last farewell: all turn their several ways.
Woes me! those tear-dimmed eyes, that sobbing
breast!
Poor child ! thou tliinkest of the kindly hand
That wont to lead thee home: no more that hand
126 THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.
Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gently stroke
Thy sun-bleached head and downy cheek.
But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps ;
In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page,—
Her thoughts are in the grave ; 'tis thou alone,
Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue gaze
Of woe profound. Haste to the widowed arms;
Look with thy father's look, speak with his voice,
And melt a heart that else will break with grief.
127
the
THANKSGIVING
OFF CAPE TRAFALGAR.
U pon the high, yet gently rolling wave,
The floating tomb that heaves above the brave.
Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roared,
Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword.
And now the cannon's peaceful thunder calls
The victor bands to mount their wooden walls,
And from the ramparts, where their comrades fell,
The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell:
Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread,
And crowd the engines whence the lightnings sped :
128 TRAFALGAR.
The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends ;
Hushed is each voice, attention leaning bends ;
Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise,
Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies.
Heaven fills each heart; yet Home will oft intrude,
And tears of love celestial joys exclude.
The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain,
Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain :
While parting spirits, mingling with the lay,
On halleluiahs wing their heavenward way.
129
TO
MY SON.
twice has the sun commenced his annual round,
Since first thy footsteps tottered o'er the ground,
Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless mine ear,
By faultering out the name to fathers dear.
0 ! Nature's language, with her looks combined,
More precious far than periods thrice refined !
0 ! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile,
1 prize you more than Beauty's magic smile;
Yes, in that face, unconcious of its charm,
I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm.
130 TO MY SON.
Ah, no ! full oft a boding horror flies
Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries.
Almighty Power ! his harmless life defend,
And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send.
And yet a wish will rise,—would I might live,
Till added years his memory firmness give !
For, O ! it would a joy in death impart,
To think I still survived within his heart;
To think he'll cast, midway the vail of years,
A retrospective look, bedimmed with tears;
And tell, regretful, how I looked and spoke ;
What walks I loved ; where grew my favourite oak ;
How gently I would lead him by the hand ;
How gently use the accent of command;
What lore I taught him, roaming wood and wild,
And how the man descended to the child;
How well I loved with him, on Sabbath morn,
To hear the anthem of the vocal thorn;
To teach religion, unallied to strife,
And trace to him the way, the truth, the life.
TO MY SON.
131
But, far and farther still my view I bend,—
And now I see a child thy step9 attend ;—
To yonder churchyard-wall thou tak'st thy way,
While round thee, pleased, thou see'st the infant play;
Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine eyes,
Pointing, thou tell'st him, There thy grandsire lies !
i 2
NOTES.
NOTES.
that the religious observance of one day in seven was a point
of main importance under the Jewish and Christian dispensations,
is evident, from the very strong terms in which the law command¬
ing its observance is couched ; from the anxious repetitions of that
law, the judgments which the prophets denounced against its viola¬
tion, the fulfilment of these denunciations, the strict observance of
the Sabbath during the best times of the Jewish polity ; and its
observance by Christ, the apostles, and the primitive Christians.
What is more material,—that the Sabbath was instituted, not as
a mere ritual observance, but as an essential article of moral duty,
is proved by this consideration, that one of the objects of the in¬
stitution was—the amelioration of the lot of the laborious part of
the creation, animals as well as men.—But the spirit of this ad¬
mirable institution will be best illustrated, by bringing into one
view some of those passages of scripture, whether preceptive, pro¬
phetic, or historical, in which the Sabbath is mentioned.
136
NOTES.
" Keep the Sabbath day, to sanctify it, as the Lord thy God
hath commanded thee. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy
work. But the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God :
in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy
daughter, nor thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thine
ox, nor thine ass, nor any of thy cattle, nor the stranger that is
within thy gates ; that thy man-servant and thy maid-servant may
rest as well as thou. And remember that thou wast a servant in
the land of Egypt, and that the Lord thy God brought thee out
thence through a mighty hand, and by an outstretched arm ; there¬
fore the Lord thy God commanded thee to keep the Sabbath day."
—Debt. v. 12 15.
" Ye shall keep my Sabbaths, and reverence my sanctuary ; I
am the Lord."—Lev. xix. 30.
" Six days shall work be done ; but the seventh day is the Sab¬
bath of rest, an holy convocation : ye shall do no work therein ; it
is the Sabbath of the Lord in all your dwellings."—Lev. xxiii. 3.
" Six days shalt thou do thy work, and on the seventh day thou
shalt rest, that thine ox and thine ass may rest, and the son of thy
handmaid and the stranger may be refreshed."—Exod. xxii. 12.
" Also the sons of the stranger that join themselves to the Lord,
to serve him, and to love the name of the Lord, to be his servants,
every one that keepetli the Sabbath from polluting it, and taketh
hold of my covenant, even them will I bring to my holy moun¬
tain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer : their burnt-
offerings and their sacrifices shall be accepted upon mine altar ; for
NOTES.
137
mine house shall be called an house of prayer for all people."
Isa. lvi. 6. 7.
" And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up,
and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the Sab¬
bath day, and stood up for to read. And there was delivered unto
him the book of the prophet F.saias ; and when he had opened the
book, he found the place where it was written, The Spirit of the
Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel
to the poor ; he hath sent me to heal the broken hearted, to preach
deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty them that are bruised ; to preach the acceptable
year of the Lord."—Luke iv. 16.—19.
" And that day was the preparation, and the Sabbath drew on.
And the women also which came with him from Galilee, followed
after, and beheld the sepulchre, and how his body was laid. And
they returned, and prepared spices and ointments, and rested the
Sabbath day, according to the commandment."—Luke xxiii.
51—56.
" But when they departed from Perga, they came to Antioch
in Pisidia, and went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and
sat down. And after the reading of the law and the prophets, the
rulers of the synagogue sent unto them, saying, Ye men and
brethren, if you have any word of exhortation for the people, say
on. Then Paul stood up, and, beckoning with his hand, said,
Men of Israel, and ye that fear God, give audience."—" For
they that dwell at Jerusalem, and their rulers, because they knew
138
NOTES.
him not, nor yet the voices of the prophets, which are read every
Sabbath day, they have fulfilled them in condemning him."—
" And when the Jews were gone out of the synagogue, the Gen¬
tiles besought them that these words might be preached to them the
next Sabbath."—Acts xiii. 14. 15. 16. 27. 42.
" Hear this, O ye that swallow up the needy, even to make the
poor of the land to fail, saying, When will the new moon be gone,
that we may sell corn ? and the Sabbath, that we may set forth
wheat, making the ephah small and the shekel great, and falsify¬
ing the balances by deceit ? That we may buy the poor for silver,
and the needy for a pair of shoes ; yea, and sell the refuse of the
wheat."—Amos viii. 4.—6.
"If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy
pleasure on my holy day, and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy
of the Lord, honourable, and shalt honour him, not doing thine
own ways, nor finding thine own pleasures, nor speaking thine own
words: then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord, and I will
cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee
with the heritage of J acob thy father ; for the mouth of the Lord
hath spoken it."—Isa. lviii. 13. 14.
" And on the Sabbath, he went out of the city by a river side,
where prayer was wont to be made."—Acts xvi. 13.
" And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came
together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart
on the morrow, and continued his speech until midnight—Acts
xx. 7.
NOTES.
180
The toil-worn horse set free P. 4. 1. 13.
" A Sabbath day's journey," says a late able and faithful la¬
bourer in the vineyard of the Lord, " was, among the Jews, a
proverbial expression for a very short one. Among us it can have
no such meaning affixed to it. That day seems to be considered
by too many, as set apart, by divine and human authority, for the
purpose, not of rest, but of its direct opposite, the labour of tra¬
velling ; thus adding one day more of torment to those generous,
but wretched animals, whose services they hire; and who, being
generally strained beyond their strength the other six days of the
week, have, of all creatures under heaven, the best and most
equitable claim to suspension of labour on the seventh. Considera¬
tions such as these may perhaps appear to some below the dignity
of this place, and the solemnity of a Christian assembly. But
benevolence, even to the brute creation, is, in its degree, a duty,
no less than to our own species ; and it is mentioned by Solomon
as a striking feature in the character of a righteous man, that ' he
is merciful even to his beast.' He, without whose permission
' not a sparrow falls to the ground, and who feedeth the young
ravens that call upon him,' will not suffer even the meanest work
of his hands to be treated cruelly with impunity. He is the com¬
mon Father of the whole creation. He takes every part of it under
his protection. He has, in various passages of scripture, expressed
his concern even for irrational creatures, and has declared more
especially, in the most explicit terms, that the rest of the Sabbath
140
NOTES.
was meant for our cattle and our servants, as well as for ourselves."
—Bishop Porteous.
Their constancy in torture and in death,—P. 13. L 2.
The following passage from Bishop Burnet's History of his Own
Time, will give some notion of the hind, though not of the extent,
of that hideous persecution, from which the people of Scotland
were delivered by the Revolution. " When any are to be struck
in the boots, it is done in the presence of the council; and upon
that occasion almost all offer to run away. The sight is so dreadful,
that without an order restraining such a number to stay, the board
would be forsaken. But the Duke, while he had been in Scot¬
land, was so far from withdrawing, that he looked on all the while
with an unmoved indifference, and with an attention, as if he had
been to look on some curious experiment. This gave a terrible
idea of him to all that observed it, as of a man that had no bowels
nor humanity in him. Lord Perth observing this, resolved to let
him see how well qualified he was to be an inquisitor-general. The
rule about the boots in Scotland was, that upon one witness, and
presumptions, both together, the question might be given : But it
was never known to be twice given, or that any other species of
torture, besides the boots, might be used at pleasure. In the courts
of inquisition, they do, upon suspicion, or if a man refuses to
answer upon oath as he is required, give him the torture ; and re¬
peat it, or vary it, as often as they think fit; and do not give over,
NOTES.
141
till they have got out of their mangled prisoners all that they have
a mind to know from them.
" This Lord Perth resolved now to make his pattern ; and was
a little too early in letting the world see what a government we
were to expect under the influence of a prince of that religion. So,
upon his going to Scotland, one Spence, who was a servant of
Lord Argyle's, and was taken up at London, only upon suspicion,
and sent down to Scotland, was required to take an oath to answer
all the questions which should be put to him. This was done in a
direct contradiction to an express law against obliging men to swear,
that they will answer super inquircndis. Spence likewise said, that
he himself might be concerned in what he might know ; and it was
against a very universal law, that excused all men from swearing
against themselves, to force him to take such an oath. So he was
struck in the boots, and continued firm in his refusal. Then a new
species of torture was invented: he was kept from sleep eight or
nine nights. They grew weary of managing this ; so a third species
was invented : Little screws of steel were made use of, that screwed
the thumbs with so exquisite a torment, that he sunk under this ;
for Lord Perth told him, they would screw every joint of his whole
body, one after another, till he took the oath. Yet such was the
firmness and fidelity of this poor man, that even in that extremity,
he capitulated, that no new questions should be put to him, but those
already agreed on ; and that he should not be a witness against
any person, and that he himself should be pardoned : so all he could
tell them was, who were Lord Argyle's correspondents. The chief
142
NOTES.
of them was Holmes, at London, to whom Lord Argyle writ in a
cypher, that had a particular curiosity in it. A double key was
necessary : the one was, to show the way of placing the words, or
cypher, in an order very different from that in which they lay on
the paper; the other was, the key of the cyphers themselves,
which was found among Holme's papers when he absconded.
Spence knew only the first of these; but he putting all in its
true order, then by the other key they were decyphered. In
these, it appeared what Argyle had demanded, and what he un¬
dertook to do upon the granting his demands : but none of his letters
spoke any thing of any agreement then made.
•' When the torture had this effect on Spence, they offered the
same oath to Carstairs : and, upon his refusing to take it, they put
his thumbs in the screws, and drew them so hard, that as they put
him to extreme torture, so they could not unscrew them, till the
smith that made them was brought with his tools to take them off."
—Burnet.
July 22. 16G8. Anna Ker, relict of Mr James Duncan, was
brought before the council. "• The lords caused bring in the boots
before her, and gave her to five of the clock to think upon it, ap¬
prizing her, if she would not give her oath in the premisses, she was
to be tortured. In the afternoon Mrs Duncan continued firm to her
purpose, and had certainly been put to the torture, had not Rothes
interposed, and told the council, It was nut proper for gentlewomen
to wear loots."—WoDitow, Vol. I. p. 994.
'» Some time after Bothwell, George l-'orbcs, a trooper in Cap-
NOTES.
143
tain Stewart's troop, then lying in Glasgow, came out one morning
with a party of soldiers to the village of Langside, in the parish
of Cathcart, not two miles from that city, and by force broke open
the doors of John Mitchell, tenant there, his house, who, they al¬
leged, had been at Bothwell. John was, that morning, happily out
of the way, whereupon they seized Anna Park, his wife, a singu¬
larly religious and sensible country-woman, whose memory is yet
savoury in that place, and pressed her to tell where her husband
was. The good woman peremptorily refusing, they bound her,
and put kindled matches between her fingers, to extort a discovery
from her. Her torment was great; but her God strengthened her,
and she endured, for some hours, all they could do, with admirable
patience, and both her hands were disabled for some time."—
Wodrow, Vol. II. p. 77.
A people doomed, Qc P. 12. 1. 19.
By the tyrannous and sanguinary laws that were passed between
the year 1661, and the ever-memorable year of the Revolution, the
whole inhabitants of extensive districts in the Lowlands of Scotland
might be said to have lived under sentence of death.
Old men, and youths, and simple maids.—P. 12. 1. 20.
" One morning, between five and six hours, John Brown, hav¬
ing performed the worship of God in his family, was going, with
144
NOTES.
a spade in his hand, to make ready some peat-ground. The mist
being very dark, he knew not until cruel and bloody Claverhouse
compassed him with three troops of horse, brought him to his house,
and there examined him ; who, though he was a man of stammer¬
ing speech, yet answered him distinctly and solidly; which made
Claverhouse to examine those whom he had taken to be his guide
through the muirs, if they had heard him preach ? They answered,
' No, no, he never was a preacher.' He said, ' If he has never
preached, meikle has he prayed in his time.' He said to John,
' Go to your prayers, for you shall immediately die.' When he
was praying, Claverhouse interrupted him three times: one time
that he stopped him, he was pleading that the Lord would spare a
remnant, and not make a full end in the day of his anger. Claver¬
house said, ' I gave you time to pray, and you have begun to preach ;'
he turned upon his knees, and said, ' Sir, you know neither the na¬
ture of praying nor preaching, that calls this preaching ;' then con¬
tinued without confusion. When ended, Claverhouse said, ' Take
goodnight of your wife and children.' His wife standing by with
her child in her arms that she had brought forth to him, and another
child of his first wife's, he came to her, and said, ' Now, Marion,
the day is come that I told you would come, when I spake first to
you of marrying me.' She said, ' Indeed, John, I can willingly
part with you.' Then he said, ' This is all I desire, I have no
more to do but die.' He kissed his wife and bairns, and wished
purchased and promised blessings to be multiplied upon them, and
his blessing. Claverhouse ordered six men to shoot him : tire most
NOTES.
145
part of the bullets came upon his head, which scattered his brains
upon the ground. Claverhouse said to his wife, < What thinkest
thou of thy husband now, woman ?' She said, ' I thought ever
much of him, and now as much as ever.' He said, ' It were jus¬
tice to lay thee beside him.' She said, ' If ye were permitted, I
doubt not but your cruelty would go that length : but how will you
make answer for this morning's work ?' He said, ' To man I can
be answerable ; and for God, I will take him in mine own hand.'
Claverhouse mounted his horse, and marched, and left her, with
the corpse of her dead husband lying there. She set the bairn on
the ground, and tied up his head, and straighted his body, and co¬
vered him in her plaid, and sat down, and wept over him. It be¬
ing a very desert place, where never victual grew, and far from
neighbours, it was some time before any friends came to her: the
first that came was a very fit hand, that old singular Christian wo¬
man in the Cummerhead, named Elizabeth Menzies, three miles
distant, who had been tried with the violent death of her husband at
Pentland, afterwards of two worthy sons, Thomas Weir, who was
killed at Drumclog, and David Steel, who was suddenly shot after¬
wards when taken. The said Marion Weir, sitting upon her hus¬
band's grave, told me, that before that, she could see no blood but
she was in danger to faint, and yet she w as helped to be a witness
to all this without either fainting or confusion ; except when the
shots were let off, her e\es dazzled. His corpse was buried at tire
end of his house, where he was slain."—Peden's Life.
v
14G
NOTES.
Claverhouse was rewarded by his master, James, with the title of
Viscount Dundee, and with the confiscated lands and goods of the
sufferers. A late memoir-writer, the slanderer of Sidney and Rus¬
sell, apostrophises this dastardly murderer of the unarmed peasantry
as a generous and heroic character.
James Stewart, a boy, " came in from the west country to see a
relation of his in prison at Edinburgh. By what means I know
not, the other got out, and he was found in the room whence the
other escaped; whereupon he was brought before a committee of
the council, and soon ensnared by their questions. When he was
silent on some heads, and would not answer, some papers before
me bear, that Sir George M'Kenzie threatened to take out his
tongue with a pair of pincers. Precisely on his answers he was
condemned, and in a few days after he was taken with the rest,
(six others), and executed at the Gallow-lee."—Wodrow, B. III.
c. 5. § 4. year 1681.
" Marion Harvie, a young woman, not twenty years of age, on
her way to the place of execution, was interrupted in her devotions :
on which she turned to her fellow-prisoner, Isabel Alison, aod said,
4 Come, Isabel, let us sing the 23d Psalmwhich accordingly
they did, Marion repeating the psalm line by line, without book.
Being come to the scaffold, afier singing the 84th Psalm, and read¬
ing the 3d of Malachi, she said, 4 I am come here to day for avow¬
ing Christ to be the head of his church, and King in Zion. They
say I would murder; but I declare, I am free of all matters of
NOTES.
147
fact; I could never take the life of a chicken but my heart shrink¬
ed. But it is only for my judgment of tilings that I am brought
here. I leave my blood on the council and the Duke of York.'
At this, the soldiers interrupted, and would not allow her to speak
any."—Cloud of Witnesses,
But that morn P. 13. I. 1.
The resurrection happened on the morning of the first day of the
week, which is now observed as the Christian Sabbath.
By Cameron thundered P. 13. 1. 19.
" The last night of his life, he was in the house of William
Mitchell in Meadowhead, at the water of Ayr, where about twenty-
three horse and forty foot had continued with him that week. That
morning a woman gave him water to wash his face and hands ; and
having washed, and dried them with a towel, he looked to his
hands, and laid them on his face, saying, ' This is their last wash¬
ing ; I have need to make them clean, for there are many to see
them.' At this the woman's mother wept. He said, ' Weep not
for me, but for yourself and your's, and for the sins of a sinful
land, for ye have melancholy, sorrowful, and weary days before
you.'
" The people who remained with him were in some hesitation
K 2
148
NOTES.
whether they should abide together for their own defence, or dis¬
perse, and shift for themselves. But that day, being the 22d of
July, they were surprised by Bruce of Earlsliall; who, having got
the command of Airly's troop and Strahan's dragoons, upon notice
given him by Sir John Cochran of Ochiltree, came furiously upon
them, about four o'clock in the afternoon, when lying on the east
end of Air-moss. When they saw the enemy approaching, and
no possibility of escaping, they all gathered round about him, while
he prayed a short word ; wherein he repeated this expression thrice
over, ' Lord, spare the green, and take the ripe.' When ended,
he said to his brother, with great intrepidity, ' Come, let us fight
it out to the last; for this is the day that I have longed for, and
the day that I have prayed for, to die fighting against our Lord's
avowed enemies; this is the day that we will get the crown.'
And to the rest he said, ' Be encouraged, all of you, to fight it
out valiantly ; for all of you that shall fall this day, 1 see heaven's
gates open to receive you.'
" But the enemy approaching, they immediately drew up eight
horse with him on the right, the rest, with valiant Hackston, on
the left, and the foot in the middle ; where they all behaved with
much bravery, until overpowered by a superior number. At last
Hackston was taken prisoner, and Mr Cameron was killed on the
spot, and his head and hands cut off by one Murray, and taken to
Edinburgh. His fadier being in prison for the same cause, they
carried them to him, to add grief to his former sorrow, and inquired
NOTES.
149
at him, if he knew them. Me took his son's hands and head, which
were very fair, being a man of a fair complexion, with his own hair,
and kissed them, and said, ' I know, I know them ; they are my
son's, my own dear son's; it is the Lord, good is the will of the
Lord, who cannot wrong me nor mine, but has made goodness and
mercy to follow us all our days.'—After which, by order of the
council, his head was fixed on the Nether-bow Port, and his hands
beside it, with the fingers upward."—Cloud of Witnesses.
The assembled people dared, in face of day P. 14. 1. 6.
" The father durst not receive his son, nor the wife her husband ;
the country was prohibited to harbour the fugitives, and the ports
were shut against their escape by sea. When expelled from their
homes, they resided in caves, among morasses and mountains, or
met by stealth, or by night, for worship; but whenever the moun¬
tain-men, as they were styled, were discovered, the hue-and-cry
was ordered to be raised. They were pursued, and frequently shot
by the military, or sought witli more insidious diligence by the
spies, informers, and officers of justice ; and on some occasions, it
appears, that the sagacity of dogs was employed to track their foot¬
steps, and explore their lurking retreats."—Laing's History,
Vol. II.
150
NOTES.
The mark which rashness branded on their names.—?. 22. 1. 10.
I am convinced, that in England, and especially is London,
(such is the dispatch used in criminal proceedings), unwarranted
verdicts are sometimes pronounced. The mechanical notion of
weighing evidence seems to have got an unfortunate hold of the
minds of jurymen ; and thus it happens, that if there be something
like evidence on the one side, and no evidence on the other, the
one scale (as it is called) of the judicial balance sinks, and the proof
is estimated, not by what it is in itself, but by what it is in compa¬
rison of something else. The law of England recognizes the evi¬
dence of one witness, as sufficient to warrant a capital conviction.
The law of God was different:—" Whoso killeth any person, the
murderer shall be put to death by the mouth of witnesses ; but one
witness shall not testify against any person, to cause him, to die."
Numb. xxxv. 30.
" At the mouth of two or three witnesess shall he that is worthy
of death be put to death ; but at the mouth of one witness he shall
not leput to death."—Deut. xvii. 6.
Each one returns to his inheritance P. 27. 1. 6.
Lycurgus's contrivance of iron money, as a preventive of the
corruption arising from the commercial system, was clumsy and in-
NOTES.
151
efficient, compared with that part of the Mosaic institution here al¬
luded to.
Driven from, their homes hy fell Monopoly.—P. 30. 1. 3.
The utility of all such agricultural improvements, as diminish the
quantum of human labour employed in the cultivation of the soil,
is very questionable. In the Highlands of Scotland, black cattle
were the produce which in former times was cultivated. After¬
wards it was discovered, that the rearing of sheep was a mode of
farming which required a much smaller proportion of hands than
the rearing of black cattle did : In other words, the Highland pro¬
prietors discovered, that by the substitution of sheep for black cat¬
tle, nine-tenths of that fund, which formerly was consumed in the
maintenance of a numerous tenantry, might be added to the amount
of their rent-rolls. The consequence has been, that large districts
of the Highlands have been nearly depopulated. Make the suppo¬
sition, that an improvement, similar in its effects, should be made on
the agricultural system of the low country ; suppose, for instance,
that a new kind of grain, or root, should be discovered, the cultiva¬
tion of which should require no more than one-tenth part of the
manual labour necessary for the cultivation of our present crops ;
or suppose, that there should be invented a machine for turning up
the soil, as much superior to the plough, as the plough is to the
spade ; and that the other implements of husbandry should be im-
152
NOTES.
proved on a proportional scale ; the consequence undoubtedly would
be, that the peasantry of this country would be nearly extirpated. It
is true, that the supposed improvements would not only increase the re¬
venue of the landlord, but would add to the quantity of agricultural
produce, and that an increase of produce would tend to an increase of
population. I, however, doubt very much, whether the increase of
agricultural produce is always attended with a pioport'umal increase
of population. At any rate, the population that is in this way ac¬
quired, must be added to the already overgrown mass of manufac¬
turing towns. No doubt the apparent strength of the nation would
be thus increased. But a healthy and a virtuous populace consti¬
tute the real power of a state; and it will not be said, that crowded
towns are favourable either to health or morals. The country and
the village inhabitants are, in truth, the source of the national po¬
pulation ; and, if it be drained, the towns themselves must of course
decay ; since the demand for live-supplies, consequent on the con-
sumpt of human life in towns, could no longer be answered. But
how are the evils arising from the abridgment of agricultural labour
to be counteracted ? They may be partially counteracted by a limi¬
tation of the extent of farms. If the arable districts were parcelled
out into possessions not exceeding a hundred and fifty acres ; and if
every landlord and tenant were bound, either to keep up a certain
number of inhabited cottages, in the proportion, let it be said, of
one to each thirty acres,—or else to pay triple land-tax and poor
rate, our crops would perhaps not be quite so abundant as in pro-
NOTES.
153
cess of time they may come to be, under the present system of weed¬
ing out the small farmers and cottagers; but the nation would be
richer in a more important kind of produce,—a numerous peasantry ;
and even the landlords themselves would find more real comfort and
enjoyment in contemplating a populous and happy neighbourhood,
than in surveying large deserted domains, teeming with all the means
of virtuous and happy existence, but barren of inhabitants to reap
the benefits so liberally spread out by the Father of mercies. Fer-
haps another expedient to check rural depopulation might be sug¬
gested,—an equalization of the right of succession. Commercial
accumulation has, during the last century, gone far in re-uniting
those enormous estates which at one time commerce had disjoined.
Every great merchant and money-dealer wishes to be the founder of
what is called a family. Now, I would indulge this vanity, by al¬
lowing such persons to found, not one family, but a number of
families, in proportion to the number of their children. To the
peerage, and perhaps to families that have been long established in
their possessions, the law ought to be left as it now stands. But if
it be expedient to keep things as they now arc,—to check the rapid
progress of a hideous Oligarchy, the old law of inheritance, as it
existed in England prior to the Norman conquest, and as it now
exists in the county of Kent, ought to be made the general law of
the land.
154 NOTES.
O England ! England ! wash thy purpled hands P. 42. L lo.
The slave-trade has been attempted to be defended by appeals to
the authority of the Old Testament. The existence of slavery ap¬
pears, indeed, to have been tolerated among the Jews ; but where
is the authority for any tiling like the slave-trade 7 Is it in the fol¬
lowing express law ? " And he that stca'cth a man, and scllcth him,
or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely he put to death.'"—
F.xod. xxi. 16.
Down like an avalanche P. 46. L 7.
" After having descended about three hours, from the time of our
quitting Meysingen, we refreshed ourselves and our horses in a de¬
lightful vale, strewed with hamlets; a sloping hill, adorned with
variegated verdure and wood, on one side ; on the other, the Rosen-
lavi and Schartzwald glaciers, stretching between impending rocks ;
and before us the highest point of the Wetterhorn lifting its pyrami-
dical top, capped with eternal snow. As we were taking our repast,
we were suddenly startled by a noise like the sound of thunder, oc¬
casioned by a large body of snow falling from the top of the moun¬
tain, which, in its precipitous descent, had the appearance of a tor¬
rent of water reduced almost into spray. These avalanches (as they
are called) are sometimes attended with the most fatal consequences;
for when they consist of enormous masses, they destroy every tiling
NOTES.
155
ill their course, anil not unfrcquently overwhelm even a whole vil¬
lage."—Coxe.
The plaintive strain that links, <|r.—P. 47. 1. 6.
" After dinner, some musicians of the country performed the
Rcns de Vachcs, that famous air which was forbid to be played
among the Swiss tooops in the French armies ; as it created in the
soldiers such a longing recollection of their native country, that it
produced in them a settled melancholy, and occasioned frequent
desertion. The French call this sort of patriotic regret maladie die
pays. There is nothing peculiarly striking in the tune ; but, as it
is composed of the most simple notes, the powerful effect of its me¬
lody upon the Swiss soldiers in a foreign land is the less remarkable.
Nothing, indeed, renews so lively a remembrance of former scenes,
as a piece of favourite music which we were accustomed to hear
among our earliest and dearest connections."—Coxe.
Till beckoned by some kindly hand to sit.—P. SO. 1. 11.
It is most melancholy to see old respectable persons standing in
the passages of a church. In former times, the area of churches
was common to all. The appropriation was certainly an encroach¬
ment. To bring matters back to their primitive state, wculd now
be impracticable. But surely a very large portion of the house of
156
NOTES.
prayer ought to be allotted to the Lord's poor. Or why should not
free churches be established in all considerable towns ? There are
several in England. To the hardship of exclusion from divine
service, or of precarious and mendicant admission, may be traced
the dissipated and idle habits of many originally well-disposed per¬
sons.
Her hands could earn her bread, and freely give—P. 59. 1. 13.
The character here described is well pourtrayed in the following
passage of Newton's Letters : «' We have lost another of the people
here; a person of much experience, eminent grace, wisdom, and
usefulness. She walked with God forty years. She was one of the
Lord's poor ; but her poverty was decent, sanctified, and honourable.
She lived respected, and her death is considered a public loss. It is
a great loss to me : I shall miss her advice and example, by which
I have been often edified and animated. Almost the last words
she uttered were, " The Lord is my portion, saith my souL"
I have known many instances of such persons. The character
is, indeed, most highly respectable ; but it does not obtain that re¬
spect and support which it so well merits. In truth, wealth is so
devoutly worshipped, that virtuous poverty must, of necessity, be
neglected, if not despised. Every man is aspiring to the imaginary
dignity of the person who happens to be a little richer than himself.
NOTES.
157
The distinction of wealth is gradually absorbing every other. I
would prefer the aristocracy of pedigree to that of riches.
There courage, that expects no tongue to praise P. 51. 1. 10.
To private soldiers and sailors the voice of praise very seldom
reaches; yet is their courage not less conspicuous than that which
their superiors in rank display. Our military establishment, both
at sea and on shore, is indeed penurious in reward, while it is liberal
in punishment. By extending the one, and restricting the other,
the regular army would be more expeditiously recruited than by in¬
crease of bounties. Let the experiment of less severe punishments
be tried. The immediate consequence would be, (to speak in mer¬
cantile phrase), a fall in the price of the article. But there is still
another, and more effectual way of recruiting the army. Follow
the advice of that man, who, through good report and through bad
report, stood the stedfast friend of justice and of freedom,—to whose
intuitive ken the most complicated subjects were simple, the
most opaque transparent. His advice (but, alas ! his prescient
advice has been seldom regarded until the event verified the pre.
diction) was, to restrict the term of service to a moderate period,
—to five, six, or seven years. If a man, engaging himself
for half a year as a common servant, were asked, for what higher
rate of wages he would bind himself during life ? his answer would
probably be, that no reward would tempt him to bind himself for
158
NOTES.
life. Or, if he were to be so allured, would lie not ask an enormous
hire ? To indent one's person for life is a tremendous engagement.
But a limitation of the term of service would be highly expedient
in another view. Reckoning the regular troops of Britain at
200,000,—if each man were to be discharged at the end of seven
years from the time of his enlistment, is it not obvious, that we
should have a yearly addition of about 27,000 thorough-bred
soldiers, ready to fall into the ranks of the strictly defensive depart¬
ment of our national armament ? Say that the addition were to be
only 20,000, what an accession of real strength, of discipline, of ex¬
perience, of confidence, would be the result! In five years, there
would be nearly 100,000 veterans (for a soldier who has served
seven years I would call a veteran) added to our home force. No
one can form a probable guess at the duration of the present war ;
nor is it likely that many of the present generation will see the day,
when they may with safety turn their swords into plough-shares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks. We must continue in the at¬
titude of an armed nation. We must labour with the one hand,
and wield our weapons with the other ".
* The above note was inserted in the first edition of the Sabbath.
The just, the humane, the wise proposal of enlistment for a limited
time, was afterwards enacted into a law ; but its efficacy is likely to
be completely counteracted by the recently introduced power of en¬
listment for life.
NOTES.
159
Or cheering with inquiries from the heart P. S3. 1. 3.
In some hospitals, the patients are supposed to be treated with all
due justice, if the bolus and the knife be liberally administered.
Nothing is done to amuse or to console.
Blest Ic the female votaries—P. 57. 1. 7.
The nuns called Beguins devote the whole of their time to at¬
tendance on the sick, whether in hospitals or in private houses.
They are habited in black, and, when going abroad, they wear deep
black veils.
Coll forth the dead, and re-unite the dust
(Transformed and purified) to angel souls.
P. 57. 1. 10, II.
Every one has experienced how much contrast enhances pleasure,
and aggravates pain. Perhaps in created beings, perfect happiness
is impossible, without the contrast of recollected misery. This con¬
sideration affords an answer to those persons, who censure the resur¬
rection of the body as a provision unnecessary and unwise,—who
say, that the joys of a blessed spirit cannot be increased by a union
with a material body, however excellent in form, structure, and
powers. I would ask, what other provision could possibly furnish
1G0
MOTES.
the pleasure derived from contrast, so vividly, so constantly ? A
celestial fonn, the habitation of that being, who formerly dwelt in a
body, frail, diseased, mortal!—To the man who had been blind in
his earthly abode, what a change ! His sightless orbs transformed
into eyes of telescopic ken !—To the palsied ! That body which
could not move itself—endowed, perhaps, with electric velocity !
that once feeble, faultering voice—attuned to the harmonies of the
heavenly choirs, " who sing the song of Moses, the servant of God,
and the song of the Lamb, saying. Great and marvellous are all thy
works, Lord God Almighty ; just and true are thy ways, thou King
of saints : Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth !"
To think that now the townsman wanders forth.—P. 66. 1. 18.
" There cannot be a more pleasing or more consolatory idea pre-
sented to the human mind, than that of one universal pause of la¬
bour throughout the whole Christian world at the same moment of
time : diffusing rest, comfort, and peace, through a large part of the
habitable globe, and affording ease and refreshment, not only to the
lowest part of our own species, but to their fellow-labourers of the
brute creation. Even these are enabled to join in this silent act of
adoration, this mute kind of homage to the great Lord of all : and
although they are incapable of any sentiments of religion, yet, by
this means, they become sharers in the blessings of it. Every man
of the least sensibility must see, must feel, the beauty and utility of
NOTES.
161
such an institution as this j and must see, at the same time, the
cruelty of invading this most valuable privilege of the inferior class
of mankind, and breaking in upon that sacred repose, which God
himself has, in pity to their sufferings, given to those that stand
most in need of it. It was a point in which it highly became the
majesty and goodness of Heaven itself to interpose. And happy
was it for the world that it did so. For had man, unfeeling man,
been left to himself, with no other spur to compassion than natural
instinct, or unassisted reason, there is but too much ground to ap¬
prehend, he would have been deaf to the cries of his labouring bre¬
thren, would have harassed and worn them out with incessant toil;
and when they implored, by looks and signs of distress, some little
intermission, would perhaps have answered them in the language of
Pharaoh's task-masters, "Ye are idle, ye are idle. There shall
not aught of your daily tasks be diminished ; let more work be laid
upon them, that they may labour therein."—Exod. v. 9. 11. 17.
" That this is no uncandid representation of the natural hardness
of the human heart, till it is subdued and softened by the influences
of divine grace, we have but too many unanswerable proofs, in the
savage treatment which the slaves of the ancients, even of the most
civilized and polished ancients, met with from their unrelenting
masters. To them, alas ! there was no Sabbath, no seventh day of
rest! The whole week, the whole year, was, in general, with but
few exceptions, one uninterrupted round of labour, tyranny, and op¬
pression."—Bisnor Porteous.
e
162
NOTES.
Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot.—P. 7L L 11.
During the winter season, there are many shepherds lost in the
snow. I have heard of ten being lost in one parislr. When life¬
boats, for the preservation of shipwrecked mariners, and institutions
for the recovery of drowned persons, obtain so much of the public
attention and patronage, it is strange that no means are ever thought
of for the preservation of the lives of shepherds during snow-storms.
I believe, that in nine instances out of ten, the death of the unhappy
persons who perish in the snow, is owing to their losing their way.
A proof of this is, that very few are lost in the day-time. The
remedy, then, is both easy and obvious. Let means be used for
enabling the shepherd, in the darkest night, to know precisely the
spot at which he is, and the bearings of the surrounding grounds.
Snow-storms are almost always accompanied with wind. Suppose a
pole, fifteen feet high, well fixed in the ground, with two cross spars
placed near the bottom, to denote the airts, or points of the compass ;
—a bell hung at the top of this pole, with a piece of flat wood at¬
tached to it, projecting upward, would ring with the slightest breeze.
For a few hundred pounds, every square mile of the southern district
of Scotland might be supplied with such bells. As they would be
purposely made to have different tones, the shepherd would soon be
able to distinguish one from another. He could never be more than
a mile from one or other of them. On coming to the spot, he would
at once know the points of the compass, and of course the direction
in which his home lay.
NOTES.
1G3
And with the forming mass floated along P. 77. 1. 4.
May we not suppose, that the mass of the earth, while yet form¬
ing, received its progressive and rotatory motions ?
The dumb cured.—F. 101.
This miracle, the reality of which the Pharisees could not deny,
(Matth. ix. 34.), is one of a higher order than those which consisted
in healing diseases. Dumbness implies, in general, not only a de¬
fect in the organs of speech, or of hearing, or of both, but ignorance
of language. Here, then, was a miracle performed on the mind.
The Judge ascended to the judgment-seat.—P. 108. 1. 1.
This representation of Paul I have not founded on the circum¬
stance of any one of his appearances before the Roman governors.
I have alluded to facts which happened at his apprehension, as well
as his arraignments before Felix, Festus, and Agrippa.
THE END.
John Pii.lans, Printer, Edinburgh.
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