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 Villi) ^^ (> S«'*^ *^ ~ >»e»t5 
 
 REMAINS 
 
 J.A.PRINGLE 
 
 ^"•^>_A *^"°**
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ~ Cx4*<fi>*~*r*-S*~ is^f-^je- 
 

 
 
 11*3- 

 
 SELECT REMAINS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE, Esq. 
 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY HARRISON AND CO., ST. MARTIN'S LANE. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLI.
 
 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 This little volume was selected and arranged by the late Sir 
 Andrew Halliday, K.H., whose lamented death has deprived 
 it of the advantage of being finished by his skilful hand. 
 Perhaps the best preface that can now accompany it, is one 
 or two extracts from Sir Andrew's letters to Mr. Pringle's 
 sisters on the subject. His acquaintance with our brother 
 was of very short duration, but long enough for him to form 
 a very high idea of his character ; which, after our brother's 
 death, on the perusal of some of his writings, ripened into an 
 enthusiastic admiration. It might be an indulgence to our- 
 selves, and pleasing to those friends who knew our brother 
 best, and for whom these remains are printed, to quote here 
 some of the no less discerning than flattering expressions 
 regarding him of one whose own character made those expres- 
 sions peculiarly gratifying to us. But our friends, recalling 
 as we do the sensitive delicacy of that brother's feelings on 
 the least approach to ostentation or display, will rather appro ve 
 of our merely quoting here Sir Andrew's opinion of his verses. 
 On January 12, 1839, Sir Andrew writes : — " I have read 
 with more interest than I can express the manuscript and 
 poems of your dear brother. Many of the latter are so truly 
 beautiful that they ought not to be lost I could 
 
 7 a2
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 make a little book out of what is now in my possession, and 
 one that I conceive would be highly prized by all who ever 
 knew or loved him ; if you will permit me, it will be indeed a 
 labour of love." 
 
 Again, on July 12, he writes: — "The more I have seen 
 of your dear brother's letters and papers, the more have I 
 become impressed with the propriety of their being- preserved 
 as one of the most important legacies that he could have left, 
 and as the greatest boon that you, his sisters, can bestow upon 
 the rising plants of the Pringle stem." 
 
 To the sixteen dear Nephews, then, of our departed 
 brother, we dedicate this little volume ; with our earnest 
 prayer, that one and all of them may be " followers of him 
 who now through faith and patience inherits the promises. 
 
 Yair, 
 January 13, 1840. 
 
 5?
 
 SELECT REMAINS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE, Esq 
 
 CLASSED ACCORDING TO THE YEARS IN WHICH THEY 
 WERE WRITTEN. 
 
 The following lines, entitled " Albin go Bragh," are dated 
 Rajmahl, 12th August, 1814. It has evidently been sug- 
 gested by some sweet recollections of home, and is written in 
 imitation of the Exile of Erin, by Thomas Campbell : — 
 
 ALBIN GO BRAGH. 
 
 Sad was my heart, when I cross'd the rough ocean, 
 
 Far from thy shore, Caledonia, to roam ; 
 Sad moan'd the blast, as I sighM on its bosom, 
 
 Fare thee well, Scotia, fare thee well, home.
 
 D SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 To the land of the stranger o'er blue billows borne, 
 From scenes I love dearest I wander forlorn ; 
 And vain is the sigh fondly breath'd for return, 
 To see thee, my Scotia, to hail thee, my home. 
 
 Where India's green woodland in summer is smiling, 
 Where's Gunga's dun wave rolls crested with foam, 
 
 Each scene that is lovely, fond fancy beguiling, 
 111 say it is Scotia, I'll think it is home. 
 
 How sweet the delusion ; too soon it is over ; 
 
 And far from thy lands must I long be a rover, 
 
 Ere the dim mist of time, rolling off, can discover, 
 Thy mountains, my Scotia, and show me my home. 
 
 For me on thy heath now no breezes are blowing, 
 No longer for me do thy green valleys bloom, 
 
 No more must I see Tweed's dimpled stream flowing, 
 Wandering from Scotia, I know not a home. 
 
 But can I forget Caledonia? oh never ! 
 
 Though distant thy woods and each wild winding river, 
 
 Though parted, alas, from my country for ever, 
 My sigh is for Scotia, my heart is at home. 
 
 Rajmahl, 12th August, 1814. J. A. Pringle. 
 
 As a specimen of his attachment to his native tongue, I 
 insert here, from a letter to his youngest brother, David, then
 
 t 
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. ' 
 
 a boy at school, some excellent verses on the battle of Water- 
 loo, the news of which had apparently jnst reached Calcutta. 
 
 As frae the tryst I did come down, 
 I met a chiel frae Brussels town, 
 Guid een, quoth I, friend, whar ye boun 
 Quae tak a cup the night man. 
 
 I speer'd the news, quoth he, Fve seen 
 As tough a fight as e'er has been, 
 The British and the French atween, 
 It was an unco sight man. 
 
 A hunder thousan Frenchmen guid, 
 Wi Buonaparte bauldly stood, 
 But sixty thousan British bluid, 
 
 Taught them the way to fight man. 
 
 The sun was up, and blinkit gay, 
 Or Wellington begood the fray, 
 But sic a rout as was that day, 
 He never coost a light on. 
 
 Twad tak a weary time to tell, 
 Wha bravely feught and bravely fell, 
 Ilk ane a hero shaw'd himsell 
 When he begood to fight man.
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 The English guards drew out their front 
 Into the yerd o" Hugomont, 
 And stiffly there they bore the brunt, 
 And pat the French to flight man. 
 
 Troops on troops, the wale o' France, 
 Upon the British horse advance, 
 Ilk had an aim coat, or lance, 
 
 And wow but they lookt bright man. 
 
 Nae aim jacket saved their hide, 
 Owr hosts o 1 French our troopers ride, 
 The lancers tough, yet couldna bide 
 Our bauld dragoons to fight man. 
 
 Three hunder cannon fired for France, 
 Gart shot like hail among us dance, 
 Ye'd thought the British stuid nae chance, 
 But wad be fellM outright man. 
 
 The British guns they roar'd fu loud, 
 And o' her guns we may be proud, 
 For ilka gun was bathed wi bluid, 
 Sae stanch the lads did fight man. 
 
 Napoleon's guards in thousans rin, 
 To fight twa hunder heelandmen, 
 They threapt to scare us wi their din, 
 And fell our folk wi fright man.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 
 
 Nae Scot is he that e'er wad flinch, 
 They'd see them hang'd, or gie an inch, 
 And thought but how to fell the French, 
 Then till 't wi all their might man. 
 
 The French, like thistles, maw'd the men, 
 Like Scotland's flowers they jagged again, 
 And feught till all the feck war slain. 
 Ye ne'er saw sic a sight man. 
 
 The diels i kilts, the Frenchman cried, 
 And aff they set, but wae betide, 
 The Greys clean through their ranks did ride. 
 And did them up downright man. 
 
 The life guards followed Uxbridge stout, 
 Wi Buonaparte to hae a bout, 
 And nab the chap made a the rout, 
 Afore he left the height man. 
 
 The gallant Uxbridge lost a leg, 
 But Buonaparte gat sic a fleg, 
 He wadna bide, but sprog'd his naig, 
 And far he fled for fright man. 
 
 Ilk Frenchman turn'd upon his heel, 
 And scour'd as driven by the diel, 
 And but the pipes they danc'd a reel, 
 Till they war out o' sight man. 
 
 B
 
 10 SELECT REMAIN'S OF 
 
 But Britain in her joy maun rue, 
 The day she wan at Waterloo, 
 For fate \vi Britons thick did strew, 
 The field whare they did fight man. 
 
 Picton, Howard, Ponsonby, 
 And Miller, fell amid the fray, 
 And mony a ane that feught that day, 
 Was cauld and dead at night man. 
 
 Their country aye shall mind wi pride, 
 Her sons at Waterloo that died, 
 And a that bravely France defied, 
 And bled for Britain's right man. 
 
 And now that a the fight is done, 
 Let's tak a drap to Wellington, 
 And here's to George that wears the crown, 
 And sets the world right man. 
 
 I have room for no more, except to tell you that 
 
 I am your very affectionate brother, 
 
 December 31 st, 1816. J. A. Pringle. 
 
 As a specimen of the ancient style of Caledonian song, 
 nothing can be more classic, either as to expression or idiom :
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 11 
 
 and few better verses have ever been written on the glorious 
 victory to which it relates. 
 
 1819. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN TO A PERSIAN AIR. 
 
 Rocked on the ocean, and lulPcl by the billow, 
 
 "Mid the vessel's rude motion, serene on bis pillow 
 
 The wanderer slumbers ; of what is he dreaming ? 
 
 He sees not the glare of the lightning gleaming, 
 
 He heeds not the wave o'er the shaking ship streaming, 
 
 But calm is his rest amid horror and gloom ; 
 
 His senses have stray'd to a happier clime, 
 
 His fancy hath fled to a happier time, 
 
 And lightly a smile on his forehead is beaming, 
 
 Of scenes far away, of past pleasure he's dreaming, 
 
 His spirit is lulPd in the joys of his home. 
 
 What cheers the wanderer's days of sorrow? 
 What cherishes hope for a happier morrow? 
 What teaches thought to fancy heaven ? 
 No soft soothing power to harmony given ; 
 Not the high heaving wave by the wild wind driven, 
 
 b 2
 
 12 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 When stars frequent flashing illumine the foam; 
 
 Not the blush of the morn, on the mountain that smiles 
 
 Like hope's vainest vision that childhood beguiles. 
 
 Awfully grand rolls the wave in the storm, 
 
 Sweet harmony soothes us, bright blushes the morn, 
 
 But if earth hold a heaven, that heaven is home. 
 
 Home ! oh, that magical name hath charms, 
 
 Bright sun of my hope, my heart it warms, 
 
 Its beam through the gloom of my solitude throwing, 
 
 Fond friends far away to my memory showing, 
 
 Soft on the scenes of my infancy glowing, 
 
 It cheers with a prospect of pleasure to come ; 
 
 Scotia, my country, its light is on thee, 
 
 Fair land of the mountain — land of the free, 
 
 The wanderer's bosom for Scotia burns, 
 
 My souPs dearest wish to my Scotia turns, 
 
 And rests on thy heath, lovely land of my home. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 
 The following- letter to his sister Margaret is in the 
 favourite rhythm of Burns. I may observe that the two first 
 stanzas of the dream introduced into this epistle had been 
 composed several years before, as a song to the tune of the 
 " Bush aboon Traquair."

 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 13 
 
 Nattore, the Daft Days, 1819. 
 
 Dear Meg, 'tis nae mair strange than true, 
 Though troth ye're right, it's something new 
 My louting down* to write to you 
 
 A verse or twa; 
 I'll never do it younger, now. 
 
 So read awa. 
 
 What gaurs ye laugh? it may be queer, 
 But now I mind, it's the new year, 
 When folks run mad, and nane will speer 
 
 If daft they be ; 
 
 I wish ye joy on't; mony mair 
 
 I hope yell see. 
 
 I got your screed that Colin brought, 
 I read it twice, and gave't a thought; 
 But doubt the biggin that yeVe wrought 
 
 Aboon the lift, 
 Is just a cloud, and when it's sought 
 
 Flees aff like drift. 
 
 * Louting down, condescending.
 
 14 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 I like your castle in the air, 
 
 But Maggy, lass, Fm far frae Yair, 
 
 Wi pouches toom, it's unca sair 
 
 To toddje hame; 
 But though I'm here, my thoughts are there, 
 
 And that's the same. 
 
 I'm surely dazed, I think I'm there, 
 
 I canna sing, I dinna care, 
 
 I hum the bush aboon Traquair, 
 
 And down the brae, 
 Ayont Raelees a keek 0' Yair 
 
 I dream I hae. 
 
 Whisht ! — Why glow'd my cheek as o'er yon knovve 
 
 My weary footsteps bore me? 
 Why lap my heart as it wad part 
 
 And won the glen afore me ? 
 I saw frae there my hame ance mair, 
 
 O how the sisfht did cheer me ; 
 Ilk weel ken't glen, the braes o' Tweed, 
 
 Wi 1 lang lost joys were near me. 
 Ye rich, wha fortune find at hame, 
 
 An ilka pleasure catch at; 
 A wanderer puir, ae joy could name, 
 
 Your wealth could never match that.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 15 
 
 Your warmest thought can fancy nought 
 
 I felt as hame grew nearer, 
 A nee mair to see the braes o' Tweed ; 
 
 What braes to me are dearer? 
 Ay, Meg, I mind, but ne'er can tell 
 
 My joy when first I saw them; 
 The rainbow's tints aboon yon hill ! 
 
 What painter e'er could dra' them \ 
 Though fortune's wheel should crush me still, 
 
 Though care's rough thorns should tear me; 
 The day I saw the braes o' Tweed 
 
 I'll mind, — the thought will cheer me. 
 
 My dream's gane by, I scarcely see, 
 Saut's the tear that dims my e'e, 
 And in my craig a lumpy wee 
 
 Has stopt my lilt ; 
 Deep, deep's the sea 'twixt Yair and me, 
 
 Ere I win tilt. 
 
 It's balmy like for folk to fret, 
 For ilka dye they canna get ; 
 I'm blythe and weel, at ony rate, 
 
 Though far awa; 
 And we may see ilk ither yet 
 
 In spite o' a'.
 
 16 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 I hac nae time to tire by day; 
 I soundly sleep the nights away, 
 As gleg when I can get the play 
 
 As weans at school ; 
 Without content, wi a' I hae, 
 
 Fd be a fool. 
 
 Of Willie an his wife yell speer, 
 They're thriven baith wi 1 a 1 their gear ; 
 And if the tale be true I hear 
 
 Frae them the now ; 
 Soon they will hae a baby dear 
 
 To dawdle too. 
 
 O' Lindsay's and the rest that you 
 May ken o', in this country now 
 The feint a word I hae that's new 
 
 To tell you here ; 
 They're weel, I doubt na, that's enow, 
 
 If ony speer. 
 
 But ye'll bo tiring now, nae doubt, 
 My jingling fancy's near run out ; 
 I've little too to write about, 
 
 And at this time 
 It's hard to find a word to clout 
 
 My daft like rhyme.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. ID 
 
 So fare ye weel, I'll write nae mair, 
 111 mind your castle in the air; 
 May we yet meet at bonny Yair, 
 
 And when we see 
 That day, may ilka ane that's there 
 
 Be blythe as we. 
 
 But should I chance to dee, ere then 
 (For folks will sometimes dee ye ken) 
 Tak frae Yair craig a blue whinstane 
 
 My grave to grace ; 
 And when aboon my kirpin bane 
 
 Scart on its face. 
 
 i 
 
 " Johnny's carcase, bones and all, 
 
 Lie buried here I trow ; 
 A man of earthly stature small — 
 
 We hope he's higher now. 
 Johnny was in Scotia bred, 
 
 Though small, it had not room to hold him, 
 So off to India Johnny fled, 
 
 Where roads were paved with gold they told him. 
 But Indian roads were made of mould, 
 
 As Johnny found, and others must, 
 
 And e'er their dust was turned to gold, 
 
 Poor Johnny's bones were turned to dust." 
 
 c 2
 
 '20 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 He's daft, he's daft, ye'll say it's clear, 
 
 I'm easy what ye say, but hear, 
 
 It cost me three good hours, my dear, 
 
 To write to you; 
 They might been better spent, I fear, 
 
 Nae help for't now. 
 
 So to the parlour "toddle ben,'''' 
 
 Wun down the ink, — tak* up yere pen, 
 
 And tell's your cracks, an 1 how ye fen? 
 
 In prose or jingle 
 I am your brither, Meg, ye ken, 
 
 CaM J. A. Pringle. 
 
 Inclosed in this letter he sent the annexed sketch, in which 
 the epitaph is a little altered. 
 
 1827. 
 
 From the date of these beautiful lines, his muse seems to 
 have fallen asleep ; for of the next eight years not a line has 
 been preserved. This year only produces two pieces ; the 
 following Paraphrase on John vi. 15 — 22, and what he is
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 21 
 
 pleased to call a translation of a Wouh-wo-wo-wb-wo-woh ! 
 or little Doggy's Dirgee*. 
 
 St. John's Gospel, Chap. VI., Ver. 15 — 22. 
 
 The sun has gone down, but all lurid and red, 
 
 The last of his rays on the water was shed ; 
 
 Night closes around, and the sea rises fast, 
 
 How dismal the moan of the gathering blast ! 
 
 Pale, pale is the moon, and her watery beams 
 
 Are lost in the flash when the lightning gleams. 
 
 The mariners watchful have furled their sail, 
 
 And anxiously wait for the rush of the gale. 
 
 More swift o'er the moon scud the gray storm clouds, 
 
 More hoarsely the wind rustles now on the shrouds ; 
 
 They lash down the helm and the storm-sail spread, 
 
 And the deep rolling ship meets the wave with her head. 
 
 She bounds o'er the billow — but hark ! what a crash ! 
 
 How swiftly that thunder-clap follow 1 d the flash ! 
 
 The wind shifts about, and the hurricane's sweep 
 
 Roars awfully over the face of the deep. 
 
 Now waves against waves in confusion are hurFd, 
 
 And white foaming breakers high o'er them are curFcl ; 
 
 * The description given by a lady of the death of Bustle, a mutual friend's favourite 
 lap-dog, so amused Mr. Pringle, by the grave way in which she told him how " he seemed 
 to feel he was dying, and never wandered, but laid himself down on the rug, and pre- 
 pared himself."
 
 -- .SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 And tempest meets tempest, and frequent and far 
 
 Red lightnings illumine the elements 1 war. 
 
 Among the dark billows the vessel sinks down ; 
 
 Now she rides through the spray as a crest on their crown ; 
 
 And mountain-like seas on the temp est- toss' d wreck 
 
 Dash rudely, and roll o'er her quivering deck. 
 
 Oh ! who, while the storm and the hurricanes rave, 
 
 Walks over the foam upon Galilee's wave I 
 
 'Tis a spirit the terror-struck mariners cry ; 
 
 Be cheerful, and fear not, he said, " It is I." 
 
 The tempest is hush'd at his mighty command, 
 
 And gently the vessel is wafted to land ; 
 
 With wonder they witness the power of his word, 
 
 And they worship the Saviour Christ Jesus our Lord. 
 
 Omnipotent Father, wherever we be, 
 
 May the eye of our Faith be directed to Thee ; 
 
 When we wander in doubt, may thy word be our guide, 
 
 May we know that our Saviour still walks by our side ; 
 
 When dangers surround us on sea or on land, 
 
 May we feel that thy Providence still is at hand ; 
 
 In joy or in sorrow, in life or in death, 
 
 May we look to our Maker who gave us our breath ; 
 
 When thy voice through the tempest proclaims in our ear. 
 
 That our souls are requir'd, and thy coming is near. 
 
 May we welcome the Saviour who beckons us home, 
 
 And exclaim, Even so holy Jesus, O come !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 23 
 
 Support us, O Lord ! when with terror we sink, 
 
 Be with us, Lord ! on eternity's brink ; 
 
 And, oh ! when our hour of mortality's past, 
 
 May we rest with our Saviour in heaven at last. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 8. Lab. 34° 48'. E. Long. 24° 56'. 
 
 At sea, 2nd of May, 1827. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF A WOUH-WO-WO-WO-WO-WOH ! 
 
 OR, 
 
 LITTLE DOGGY'S DIRGEE, 
 
 AS LAMENTABLY SUNG BY OLD JESSY, AT POOR OLD BUSTLe's WAKE. 
 
 Bustle's dead and Bustle's buried, 
 Bustlers dead and Bustle's gone ! 
 
 To his grave is Bustle hurried, 
 Poor old Jessy's left alone ! 
 
 Fancy little Jessy's sorrow, 
 Fancy, fancy how she cried ! 
 
 Oh could she but die to-morrow, 
 And lie by pretty Bustle's side. 
 
 Curly was his coat all over, 
 Curly, curly were his lugs, 
 
 Never fault could man discover 
 In this best of little dogs.
 
 2i 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 But vain his worth, and vain each curl, 
 Bustle's time was come to go, 
 
 Grim death, that settles all the world, 
 Has laid poor pretty Bustle low. 
 
 A dog of wisdom Bustle was, 
 He never wander'd in his illness, 
 
 But on the rug he stretch'd his paws, 
 Just kick'd a kick, and all was stillness. 
 
 Green's the turf o'er Bustle's head ! 
 Green's the grass on Bustle's tail ! 
 
 And round the mound are violets spread, 
 Sweetly mix'd with lilies pale. 
 
 Oh, Bustle's dead and Bustle's buried ! 
 Bustle's dead and Bustle's gone ! 
 
 Bustle to his grave has hurried, 
 And left old Jessy all alone ! !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 25 
 
 1828. 
 
 While at Inverness on a Sunday, in July, lie composed 
 the following beautiful Prayers, which are written on the 
 blank leaves of his Bible, — his constant companion. They 
 are indeed worthy of being- preserved*. 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF HIS BIBLE. 
 
 Eternal Majesty, great God of all, 
 Ruler omnipotent, omniscient, 
 To human thought incomprehensible, 
 O'er all supreme, all perfect in thyself ! 
 
 Our ignorance is great, we do not know 
 What in thy sight is fit that we should ask, 
 But trusting to thy wisdom and thy power, 
 Most bounteous God, we humbly now presume 
 
 * These two prayers are the only poems in this selection in which the sister of the 
 writer feels a scruple in adhering to Sir Andrew Halliday's arrangement, remembering 
 as she does the retiring delicacy of her departed brother's character. This scruple, how- 
 ever, is overcome by the consideration, that the boys for whose benefit this collection is 
 principally intended may here see that we should not be strangers to God in prosperity, 
 if we would have Him to " know our souls in adversity." These two prayers, composed 
 just before his marriage, when the world was to him unclouded, show that He who was 
 in after life his " shelter from the storm," was no less at this time his " shadow from the 
 heat."
 
 26 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 To kneel in prayer before thy glorious throne. 
 O pour thy holy Spirit on our souls, 
 That we may worthily adore thy name, 
 And worship Thee in spirit and in truth. 
 
 The smallest of thy creatures feels thy care, 
 The greatest own thy power, and worship Thee ; 
 Thy will created worlds, and at thy word 
 In fire and smoke they are consumed away; 
 Each little insect lives through Thee alone. 
 Thou guidest every planet in its wn course ; 
 Thy Providence supplies our wants by day, 
 And, when we close our weary eyes in sleep, 
 Still Israel's keeper watches o'er our heads. 
 
 Father beneficent ! we bless thy name 
 For life, for health, for all that we enjoy, 
 For hope of heav'n through faith in Jesus Christ : 
 Thee grateful we adore. — Our many sins 
 With penitence and sorrow we confess ; 
 Thy wrath is just, great God, and none may stand 
 Before thy face upon the judgment day; 
 Corrupt and wicked, we can only cry, 
 Good Lord, be merciful to sinful man ! 
 And Thou art merciful, and dost accept 
 The sacrifice of Jesus for our sins, 
 Who died upon the cross that we might live. 
 O wash out our transgressions in his blood !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 27 
 
 And for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord, 
 Hear Thou our prayer for pardon and for grace; 
 And strengthen us against the power of sin. 
 Teach us to love Thee, Lord, with all our souls, 
 To love our neighbours as we do ourselves, 
 And steadfastly to keep thy holy law. 
 With humble gratitude cause us to use 
 The blessings that thy mercy doth bestow. 
 With pious resignation may we bear 
 Each trial that thy chastening hand inflicts. 
 In riches, poverty, and every snare, 
 And false allurements that the world holds out 
 To make our sinful souls forget their God, 
 Support us we beseech Thee with thy grace. 
 Defend us through this day from every ill ; 
 Assist us to perform with honest zeal 
 Each duty that our lot in life requires; 
 Guide Thou our hearts to follow what is right, 
 And bless the work we undertake through Thee. 
 
 Oh, hear our prayer for all who dwell on earth ; 
 Restrain the wicked, bring them back to Thee, 
 Protect the good, and prosper all good acts. 
 Crown Thou their labours with complete success, 
 Who preach redemption for our Saviour's sake, 
 That all the world may praise his holy name, 
 And seek the blessings which his blood hath bought. 
 
 d 2
 
 28 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OP 
 
 Great God ! give understanding to the king, 
 And all whom under him we must obey, 
 That they may act according to thy law, 
 And rule the land in holy fear of Thee. 
 
 Oh listen to our supplication, Lord ! 
 For all our dear relations and our friends. 
 Lead Thou them in the path of righteousness, 
 Give them that peace the world cannot give ; 
 Grant of thy mercy that we often meet 
 In happiness and love before we die, 
 But if it be thy high and holy will, 
 That we no more should see our friends on earth, 
 God, amidst grief give hope and strength to say, 
 Father, thy will be done, for Thou art good ! 
 
 Yet hearken to our prayer ! our earnest prayer ! 
 O 'stablish thou our faith in Jesus Christ ! 
 That we thy servants, through the Comforter, 
 Proceeding from the Father and the Son, 
 May live to Thee, and finally possess 
 The joys eternal that Thou hast prepared 
 For those who love thy law, and trust in Christ : 
 In whose most holy name and words we pray, 
 Our Father, &c, &c.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 
 
 29 
 
 EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 O hear us, God of mercy, God of grace ! 
 And let thy holy Spirit help our prayer, 
 Which with a lowly heart we offer up 
 To Thee, the giver of all perfect gifts. 
 
 We praise Thee, holy Father, for thy care 
 Experienced by us throughout this day, 
 And now when darkness closes round our heads 
 We lay us down to sleep and take our rest, 
 And unto Thee our God commend our souls, 
 For Thou redeemest us, O God of truth ! 
 Protect us through this night, Almighty God, 
 And may we wake refreshed from our sleep, 
 To praise thee, Lord, and glorify thy name ; 
 Extend thy saving grace to all mankind, 
 And bless the work of those who preach thy word, 
 And labour to increase the flock of Christ. 
 
 Especially we pray for all our friends, 
 And relatives, and brethren in the Lord ; 
 Inspire our hearts with gratitude and love 
 For all the mercies that Thou dost bestow, 
 And chiefly for the knowledge of thy Son, 
 The blessed Saviour Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 O 'stablish Thou our faith and hope in him,
 
 30 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 That we may be through his atoning blood 
 
 Redeemed and purified from all our sins, 
 
 And through the Comforter, whom He doth send, 
 
 May we be guided in the way of truth, 
 
 Abide in Christ, and keep thy holy word. 
 
 Make all our actions, all our words and thoughts, 
 
 Acceptable to Thee, our God and Lord, 
 
 And when it pleaseth Thee to call us hence, 
 
 May we through Christ receive eternal life, 
 
 And with the Saints for ever praise thy name. 
 
 Amen ! 
 
 During the same month that he composed these solemn 
 addresses to his Maker which have just been recorded, he also 
 wrote the following beautiful Song, to the tune of " Auld 
 Robin Gray." 
 
 SONG, Written July, 1828. 
 
 When the bright blue lightnings flash, 
 And the wild winds round me rave, 
 
 And the groaning mast goes crash, 
 And the wreck rides on the wave :
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 31 
 
 When nought but gloom I see, 
 
 Then, bonny lassy, say, 
 Will ye pray a prayer for me, 
 
 Wandering far away. 
 
 When the summer's sun is set 
 
 On the woodland down the gait, 
 And the mavis on the hazel 
 
 Sings merry to its mate : 
 Forlorn by its lane, 
 
 Gin ye see a herried dow, 
 Oh think for ance o 1 ane 
 
 That maun aye think o 1 you. 
 
 How sweet, but oh, how vain, 
 
 To think that a" for me, 
 You would leave your bonny hame : 
 
 But, love, the thought forgie, 
 Oh ! wae, wae's my heart, 
 
 To leave the land I loe, 
 But break it maun to part, 
 
 Sweet lassy, frae you. 
 
 Listen to me, love, 
 
 Oh say yell gang wi' me, 
 Or heartless I maun rove, 
 
 And bless the day I dee.
 
 32 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 I had little I could gie 
 
 But a warm heart and true, 
 
 That heart yeVe stown frae me, 
 It maun aye bide wi 1 you. 
 
 The world speak o 1 wealth, 
 
 But what can siller gie? 
 Can it win me back my heart, 
 
 That yeVe twined awa frae me. 
 Oh, ae look o' love, 
 
 In my bonny lassy's ee, 
 Were worthy^ 1 the wealth 
 
 O 1 the world to me. 
 
 Having made a drawing of Mount Annan, the seat of 
 General Dirom, and the home of his beloved, he wrote under 
 it, in her scrap book, the following : — 
 
 LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN BELOW A DRAWING OF MOUNT ANNAN. 
 
 Heard ye that breeze? oh, its music is dear 
 As the song of a mother to infancy's ear; 
 It whispered, as lightly it blew through the glen, 
 Rest, wanderer ! welcome to Annan again.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDEB PRINGLE. 33 
 
 It kissed the green woodland, it toy'd with the trees, 
 The dark foliage rustled as rock'd by the breeze ; 
 And oh, I could fancy it join'd in the strain, — 
 Rest, wanderer, welcome to Annan again. 
 
 Like a smile on the cheek of an infant asleep, 
 It play'd on the Annan and dimpled the deep, 
 And each wimpling wave, as it roll'd to the main, 
 Sang, Wanderer, welcome to Annan again. 
 
 There's a breeze that I love, — o'er Mount Annan it blows; 
 There's a water I love, — in the Annan it flows ; 
 There's one thought that can soothe a worn wanderer's pain, — 
 Tis the hope that Fll see thee, dear Annan, again. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 1829. 
 
 This year I have only found the following- lines, written off 
 the Land's End on the 23rd of July, on his way to India with 
 his young wife. 
 
 "Thy last land, my country," fades from my sight, 
 Thy mountains have set in the shadow of night ; 
 Swift sails our vessel upon the blue sea, 
 And day will dawn on us far distant from thee. 
 
 E
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 O ! the lands where we wander have mountains as light. 
 
 And the sun of the East shines on valleys as bright, 
 
 But we miss in those valleys, though lovely they be, 
 
 Those spells so enchanting which bind us to thee. 
 
 Fond fancy can trace in thy heathery hill 
 
 Those footsteps so dear to our memory still, 
 
 And oft o'er those mountains we hear on the blast 
 
 The voices we loved in the days that are past, 
 
 And the visions of those that are far far away 
 
 Seem still by the murmuring waters to stray, 
 
 And fond recollections, wherever we rove, 
 
 Can fill thy lone glens with the forms that we love. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 The following appear to have been written in Mrs. Pringle's 
 scrap book either during the voyage or very soon after their 
 arrival at Jessore. 
 
 INDIA: AN ODE. 
 
 Sixteen thousand miles of sea 
 
 Lead us to our destiny, 
 
 To the land of golden dreams, 
 
 Washed by weighty Ganga's streams. 
 
 Land of tigers and of apes, 
 
 Land of monsters of all shapes,
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PKINGLE. 36 
 
 Land of crows, and kites, and frogs, 
 
 Land of pups and pariah dogs, 
 
 Land of cats, and rats, and mice, 
 
 Land of curry and of rice, 
 
 Land of lawyers without wigs, 
 
 Land of political intrigues, 
 
 Land of riches and distress, 
 
 Land of hovels — palaces ! 
 
 Land of ladies and of dancing, 
 
 Land of singular financing, 
 
 Land of browns, and blacks, and whites 
 
 All deprived of their just rights, 
 
 Land of disappointment, where 
 
 All the ills of life we share, 
 
 Where the people called elect 
 
 Milk, and wine, and oil expect, 
 
 Where another class doth find 
 
 Misery and want combined; 
 
 While others, should they chance to live, 
 
 Take such things as chance may give. 
 
 But suppose we put in rhyme 
 
 All the blessings of the clime, 
 
 Thunder, lightning, storms, and rains, 
 
 Cholera, rheumatic pains, 
 
 Head-ach, heart-ach, stomach-ach, 
 
 All disorders man can take, 
 
 E 2
 
 36 SELECT REMAINS OK 
 
 Doctors recipes and pills, 
 
 Horror at our monthly bills, 
 
 Burning sun and scorching winds, 
 
 Bungolows with close-shut blinds. 
 
 Breath exhausted, heat oppressive, 
 
 Liver twinges — most expressive, 
 
 Hope deferred our hearts to blight, 
 
 Injuries we dare not right, 
 
 Damp that blots, and spoils, and stains, 
 
 Nora's book for all my pains, 
 
 Such is India — such its plan, 
 
 Oh, who would live in Hindoostan I 
 
 THE DREAM OF CALDERWOOD. 
 
 Sweet vision of life's morning stay, 
 Let fitful fancy have her way, 
 While back to Calderwood I stray 
 
 Through glade and glen so green. 
 
 Scene to happy childhood dear, 
 Friends whose smile that scene could cheer, 
 Sleep's witching wand will waft you near, 
 Though oceans roll between.
 
 JOHX ALEXANDER PRIXGLE. 
 
 From yonder cliffs, see, Calder throws 
 His foaming flood, now gently flows 
 Where hawthorn sweet, with many a rose, 
 Hung round the rock is seen. 
 
 Bright thoughts of happy moments past 
 Like sunbeams fall — they fade as fast ! 
 Yet o'er the gloom a ray they cast, 
 To light life's dreary dream. 
 
 Still may they beam on yon gray towers, 
 Where careless fled my early hours; 
 Still seek the tangled woodbine bowers, 
 By Calders wimpling stream. 
 
 Stay, lovely vision, yet a while, 
 The wanderer's weary heart beguile, 
 And, for a moment, try to wile 
 
 It back to what has been ! 
 
 J. A. Pringle.
 
 •S<S SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Mrs. Pringle had taken with her a book, or album, which 
 she promised to fill with drawings and poems for her sister, 
 Miss Dirom; on the first page of this book, Mr. Pringle, as a 
 preface, writes : — 
 
 Nora, dear sister, say, is it not sweet, 
 
 When distant so far, that our spirits may meet, 
 
 While in fancy we ramble, each hour of the day, 
 
 To the haunts that we love, with our friends far away ! 
 
 Oh, it's sad, but it's sweet, to picture the scene, 
 
 Where last in our land we together have been : 
 
 Till faces we love, in our fancy, arise, 
 
 And their smiles and their looks seem to gladden our eyes. 
 
 Too sweet is the dream, — we awake, and it flies, 
 
 In the roar of the waters around us it dies ; 
 
 Yet still, while we wander and rock on the sea. 
 
 The moments fly fast when devoted to thee. 
 
 And with pens and with scrap books we chase away time, 
 
 Transcribing a poem, or writing a rhyme, 
 
 While our pencils would waft you, in fancy at least. 
 
 To the loveliest scenes that we see in the East. 
 
 Our rhyme may be doggrcl, and wretched to read. 
 
 We would give you our best — take the will for the deed.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PR1NGLE. 39 
 
 If* faults in perspective you chance to detect, 
 We did not intend them, in mercy correct — 
 Yes, kind is the critic, her heart's on our side, 
 And the failings she finds, her affection will hide. 
 
 1880. 
 
 The following was written in consequence of Mrs. Pringle 
 detailing to him the incidents of a dream she had soon after 
 the news of her brother's death had reached Jessore ; and 
 when, as is'said by his sister, "she knew her first sorrow,'" — 
 at least snch is believed to have been the origin of it. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 " Brother ! thou art come from the land of the blest, 
 Thou art come from the place of thy spirit's rest, 
 Thou art come, thou art come, dear brother, for me 
 
 give me thy wings and I too shall be free ! ,1 
 
 " I have wandered, indeed, an angel guest, 
 To earth — from the land of the spirit's rest, 
 
 1 am come, dear sister, but not for thee, 
 For thine still is the chain of mortality.' 11
 
 40 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 " How radiant thy hair with its glossy hue, 
 How bright beams thine eye of heaven's own blue ! 
 And it looks as if never a tear-drop laid 
 Upon the soft fringe of its silken shade." 
 
 • 
 
 " Sister, I've been beyond that bright sky, 
 Where no tear is shed — where is heard no sigh: 
 No! these belong to the mortal ^ ou4 ' CQIl 
 To earth, and her children of care and toil.'" 
 
 " Ah ! why did thy lingering spirit not wait I 
 
 At the portal of heaven, at its golden gate, 
 
 I have wept, I have watched, I have waited for thee ; 
 
 Then give me thy wings, let me soar and be free." 
 
 "I may not, I may not; for stronger the wing, 
 On which thy freed spirit hereafter shall spring ; 
 On the pinion of faith, it shall purified soar, 
 The ransomed of earth — and her pilgrim no more. 1 ' 
 
 Jessore, 1830. 
 
 1 have met with nothing- more beautiful than the following 
 lines addressed to Mrs. Pringle on the second anniversary of
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 41 
 
 their marriage-day. It was folded as a note, and evident]) 
 was sent to her early, as the P.S. would indicate. 
 
 Hand in hand together kneeling, dearest say, is it not sweet, 
 One in heart, and one in feeling, to approach the mercy seat ? 
 Humbly there our sins confessing, shrinking from the lowest place, 
 Yet, prizing higher every blessing, since we owe them all to grace. 
 And, under Heaven, w-here's the blessing, sweetest still where all are 
 
 sweet ? 
 'Tis the comfort of possessing one fond heart my heart to meet. 
 Love ! I know that heart is beating in thy breast for me alone ; 
 With joy the day's return now greeting, that sunny clay which made us one. 
 Since first I saw, since first I sought thee, thrice I've seen these happy 
 
 days, 
 And each returning season brought me causes deep for humble praise. 
 First, by joyful friends attended, before our Maker, side by side, 
 Our solemn vows to God ascended, and I clasped my lovely bride ! 
 Next returning season found us far from all we thought our home, 
 Nought but wild waves rolling round us, call'd to distant lands to roam. 
 Though other friends no more enfold thee, thy heart still found a home in 
 
 mine ; 
 And that dark sparkling eye still told me, Love, I had my home in thine ! 
 Now we dwell with heathen round us, sunk in darkness, sin, and shame; 
 That the Gospel light hath found us, let us praise his holy Name ! 
 And, taught of God the way to heaven, still pray for grace to understand, 
 Of those, to whom He much has given, much He also will demand. — 
 
 F
 
 42 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Though one shade the scene hath clouded, since this day we welcomed last. 
 
 Though a brother's death hath shrouded many a dream of pleasure past ; 
 
 From Religion comfort gather, let her beam the gloom dispel, 
 
 May our chastened hearts say, Father! Thou hast ordered all things well! 
 
 Thus upon our Lord relying, peace shall light our prospect here ; 
 
 Christian hope shall soothe our sighing, Christ will dry the mourner's tear. 
 
 Dearest ! may His mercy shield thee, — prosper thee in all thy ways, 
 
 And each returning season yield thee reason new His name to praise ! 
 
 Jessore, Friday, J. A. Pbingle. 
 
 1 Oth September, ] 830. 
 
 My pretty puss must let me play poet laureate on this fine day, for 
 I am in a very rhyming, very happy humour, — Ci, CI. 
 
 The following, entitled " Our little Station Church," bears 
 an earlier date, and is also beautiful. 
 
 OUR LITTLE STATION CHURCH. 
 
 Ezekiel xr. 16*. 
 
 The Sabbath bell we may not hear ', — 
 No gorgeous gothic fane be near, — 
 And two or three may scarcely meet 
 To kneel before the mercy seat : 
 
 1 Lam. i. 4 — 7.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLEc 43 
 
 The idol-altars round may stand * , — 
 This world's spirit may fill the land, 
 While scatter'd, few and far between, 
 The followers of Christ are seen 3 . 
 
 Yet, still, the Lofty One and High 4 , 
 Who dwelleth in Eternity, 
 The contrite spirit's prayer will hear, 
 And deign the lowly soul to cheer. 
 From breathings of a broken heart, 
 Thy mercy, Lord, will not depart 5 : 
 To mark the humbled sinner's sigh, 
 The Holy One is ever nigh. 
 
 And will He not descend to bless 
 His temple in the wilderness 6 ? 
 To hear our feeble voices raise, 
 With heart sincere, our prayer and praise? 
 Come boldly then without the camp 7 , 
 Let ways, not words, profession stamp, 
 And, grateful, glory in his Name 8 , 
 Who died for us, despising shame 9 . 
 
 2 Psalm iii.'2. 3 Ibid, lxxiv. 4 Isaiah lvii. 15 — 18. 
 
 5 Psalm xxxiv. 18. 6 Ibid, lxiii.; xc. 17. 
 
 7 Heb xiii. 13 ; Matt. vii. 21—27. 8 Rom. v. 1—10. 
 
 9 Heb. ii. 9—18. 
 
 F 2
 
 44 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Come, let us join to praise the Lord 10 , — 
 Come, let us read his holy Word, 
 And pray for grace to understand, 
 And strength to keep each high command. 
 Lord ! when before Thee we appear, 
 Hear Thou"! In heaven thy dwelling, hear! 
 And, while Thou hearest, O forgive 12 ! 
 And, in thy favour, bid us live ! 
 Jessore, April, 1830. J. A. Pringle. 
 
 In a small paper book, which is inscribed the Jaw-Hole. 
 and in which several of his verses are inscribed, he has chosen 
 as his motto the following- lines from Virgil, Georg. iv. 
 
 Ipse Cave solans aegrum testudine amorem, 
 Te, dulcis Conjux — Te solo in littore secum, 
 Te veniente die, Te decedente canebat. 
 
 All lonely on the shore forlorn he strays, 
 
 Breathing his woes to broken-hearted lays ; 
 
 For Thee, sweet Love ! for Thee the lyre he strings, 
 
 Of Thee from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn he sings. 
 
 10 Psalm xcv. ; c. "I Kings viii. 28—30, 57—60. 
 
 12 Psahn xxx. ."»
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 4- r > 
 
 And indeed this may be taken as the burthen of every line he 
 wrote from the death of his beloved Christina. 
 
 The following- are all beautiful, and display the feelings of 
 his bereaved heart, after he had laid in the " cold grave," 
 her in whom all his earthly happiness had been centred. 1 
 have numbered them according to their apparent dates. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S COMFORT. 
 
 Mark xvi. 1—3; Matt, xxviii. 2 — 4; Mark xvi. 4, 5; 
 Matt, xxviii. 5 — 7 ; and Luke xxiv. 5 — 7. 
 
 With heavy heart and throbbing breast, 
 She sought the tomb at dawn of day, 
 
 t 
 
 Where they had laid her Lord to rest, — 
 
 But, who shall roll the stone away ? 
 Oh who is He who may remove 
 
 The barrier rock that lies between 
 The mourner and the Saviour's love, 
 When hope hath fled, 
 And grief hath shed 
 Despair and darkness on the scene !
 
 4fi SELECT REMAIN'S OF 
 
 See, the solid earth doth shake — 
 
 The angel of the Lord appears ! 
 The rock is rent — the keepers quake ! 
 
 Christian mourner calm thy fears. — 
 He lives — the first-fruits of the tomb ! 
 
 Come, see the place where He was laid. 
 Let his own promise chase thy gloom, 
 This is the day, 
 Oh haste away ! 
 
 Why seek ye the living with the dead ? 
 
 A light hath shone upon the grave, 
 
 And Jesus lives ! He is not here ! 
 And He, who died, thy soul to save, 
 
 Revives, the mourner's heart to cheer. 
 So spake the messenger of God, 
 
 While, awe struck, Mary bow'd her head 
 Thy Lord hath left death's dark abode, 
 The heavenly way 
 He leads to-day; 
 
 Why seek ye the living with the dead I 
 
 So speaks He still to Christian faith, 
 While all life's loveliest blossoms fade. 
 
 Yes, even at the tomb, He saith, 
 Seek not the living with the dead.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 
 
 The soul, that flash'd with love and light, 
 Beneath that dark eye's deepest shade, 
 To heaven hath \ving\l its joyous flight, 
 In seraph lays, 
 The Lamb to praise ; 
 Why seek ye the living with the dead I 
 
 Oh, peaceful is the slumber deep 
 
 Of those we lovM to look upon ; 
 They rest from care, in gentle sleep, 
 
 Who trusted in the Lord alone ; 
 Their spirits, to the Saviour's fold, 
 
 The Shepherd of their souls hath led ; 
 
 Look up, each glorious guest behold ! 
 
 Praise God on high ! 
 Tne y j°y f ul cry; 
 
 Why seek ye the living with the dead ? 
 
 But joys more perfect still remain 
 
 For all who, faithful, keep the word ; 
 Immortal friends shall meet again, 
 
 And be for ever with the Lord. 
 When they that sleep in Jesus wake, 
 
 To dwell with Christ our risen Head : 
 Then, mourning Christian, comfort take, 
 Wait, watch, and pray, 
 Unto the day 
 
 Of Him who liveth and was dead. 
 
 J. A. Pringle.
 
 48 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 II. 
 
 Jon xxiii. 8, 9, 10. — Behold I go forward, but He is not there ; and backward, but I can- 
 not perceive Him : On the left hand, where He doth work, but I cannot behold 
 Him ; He hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see Him. But He 
 knoweth the way that I take : when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as 
 gold. 
 
 Forward I look, but look in vain, 
 My God I cannot see ; 
 
 Backward I turn, I look again, 
 But He is lost to me. 
 
 Above — beneath — on every side, 
 
 His awful power is shown, 
 But still from me dark shadows hide 
 
 His mercy's radiant throne. 
 Yet all my ways are known to Thee, 
 
 Thou dost my heart behold ; 
 O grant, when Thou hast proved me, 
 
 I may come forth as gold ! 
 
 With patience may I seek thy face, 
 
 Resigned to thy will ; 
 And though thy path I cannot trace, 
 
 O, let me trust Thee still !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 49 
 
 So may I have that peace divine, 
 
 This world can never give : 
 The peace thou leavest Lord with thine, 
 
 To know thy love and live. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 Calcutta, November, 1830. 
 
 III. 
 
 Job xxx. 31. — My harp also is. turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of 
 
 them that weep. 
 
 A wanderer in a dreary land, 
 Alone in careless crowds I stand : 
 In sleepless nights and pain by day, 
 I plod through life my weary way. 
 The joys of time all sunk in gloom — 
 The brightest buried in the tomb. 
 Great God, who rulest all, be nigh ; 
 O listen to the mourner's sigh ! 
 
 Bow'd low in dust beneath thy frown, 
 Lord, make me feel the sins I own ; 
 Yet, hear in mercy while I pray, 
 And cast me not from grace away.
 
 50 SELECT REMAINS OP 
 
 Though clouds and darkness round Thee dwell. 
 Though o'er me all thy billows swell, 
 Yet, from the deep to Thee I cry, 
 listen to the mourner's sigh ! 
 
 Lord, who hast died that man might live, 
 My Saviour, all my sins forgive. 
 O shed thy Holy Spirit's ray 
 Of comfort round the pilgrim's way ! 
 With faith and love my bosom fill, 
 And meek submission to thy will ; 
 Thus, Lord, the tear of sorrow dry, 
 So soothe thy mourning servant's sigh ! 
 
 J. A. Pkingjue. 
 
 Calcutta, November, 1830. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In sorrow's dark moments, 
 
 When no one is near, 
 Thy form is before me, — 
 
 I fancv thee near ! 
 But thy place, Love, is empty, 
 
 These day-dreams — how vain ! 
 Thou art gone, — and I never 
 
 May see thee again !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. ."> I 
 
 Still there's comfort for sorrow 
 
 In the place where I flee. 
 Receive me, my Saviour, 
 
 I cling unto Thee. 
 Be thou with my spirit, 
 
 While wandering alone ; 
 And the heart, Thou hast broken, 
 
 Lord, make it thine own ! 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 
 Calcutta, December ■, 1830. 
 
 V. 
 
 My eye's desire ! — My blooming lovely one ! 
 
 Sweet partner of my bosom's joys and woes ; 
 The weary wanderer's comfort, and his only one, 
 
 Droops low in death ; and faded is my rose. 
 
 Ye cannot feel, by every friend surrounded, 
 Who ne'er are destined through the world to roam, 
 
 The desolation of a heart thus wounded, 
 Bereft of her whose breast was all his home. 
 
 Far through this vale of tears dark shades are glooming, 
 Where once to me the wilderness look'd fair, 
 
 Where once each way I turn'd life's flowers were blooming, 
 But then my sweet one wander'd with me there. 
 
 g 2
 
 52 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Yet stay ! — Is that a star, that, softly shining, 
 
 Beyond the gloomy vista sheds its ray, 
 To chide the lonely wanderer's repining, 
 
 And guide his steps to everlasting day ? 
 
 Bright star of Bethlehem, that led the stranger 
 To where the Prince of Peace and Glory lay, 
 
 Poor for my sake, and cradled in a manger, 
 Thine is the light — thine the reviving ray! 
 
 Oh, leave me not in night that knows no morrow, 
 
 Within the darkness of despair to stray ! 
 Shine on, shine on ! where, low and bow'd with sorrow. 
 
 For Faith to heal a broken heart I pray. 
 
 To Thee I pray, who dried the eye still weeping, 
 And soothed the mourner's spirit with thy word.: 
 
 " Weep not for her, she is not dead but sleeping." 
 Be Thou my strength, my consolation, Lord ! 
 
 May I be led by Thee to seek thy glory, 
 And, with a chasten'd heart and spirit poor, 
 
 Strive, in the path of life that lies before me, 
 To make my calling and election sure : 
 
 And, when I sleep with her whom Thou hast taken, 
 
 In thine own day, our slumbering bodies raise : 
 Then to eternal joy may we awaken, 
 
 And hymn, in heaven, our great Redeemer's praise. 
 Barruckpore, Christmas, 1830. J. A. Prutole.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 53 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE PATRIARCH'S PROSPECTS. 
 
 Job xiv. 1 — 10. — For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, 
 and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax 
 old in the earth, and the stock die in the ground ; Yet at the scent of water 
 it will bud and bring forth boughs like a plant. But man dietli and wasteth 
 away; yea, he giveth up the ghost, and where is he ? 
 
 Job vii. 8 — 10. — The eye of liim that hath seen me shall see me no more. Thine eyes are 
 upon me, and I am not. As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away; so lie 
 that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more. He shall return no 
 more to his house ; neither shall his place kuow him any more ! 
 
 Job xiv. II, 12. — As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth up: 
 So man lieth down and riseth not ; till the heavens be no more, they shall 
 not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. 
 
 With mist and with gloom the pale landscape is clouded, 
 The deep drifted snow hill and valley hath shrouded, 
 Lifeless and bare the gray branches are waving, 
 Where winter's wild storm through the forest is raving. 
 Yet, the soft breath of spring the young foliage will nourish, 
 Again, in each glen, the gay blossom will flourish, 
 And the moorland will bloom with the sweet blushing heather, 
 When summer again brings the sun-shiny weather. 
 
 Not so with the breast where life's latest sigh lingers, — 
 With the pale faded cheek touched by Death's icy fingers ; 
 Oh, Death's chilling blast every prospect doth wither ! 
 Thou art gone ! Thou art gone ! — But who shall say whither ?
 
 5+ SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Affection's embrace may no longer enfold thee, 
 Affection's fond gaze never more shall behold thee, 
 And thy dear happy home, and its glen, and its river, 
 Will smile — but on others — as lovely as ever ! 
 
 Thou wert light as the cloud that at sunset is glowing, 
 Thou wert bright as the rill down the green valley flowing ; 
 But the blush of the evening is melted in shadow, 
 And lost in the deep is the rill of the meadow ! 
 Thine eye too is dim, and Death's shadows surround thee, 
 His spell in its still, stony slumber hath bound thee, 
 In the sleep of the dead the cold grave doth enfold thee, 
 And the heavens must fade «-'er again we behold thee ! 
 Winter, 1830. J. A. Pringle. 
 
 The last poem I shall insert of this year is written on the 
 last page of the unfinished Scrap Book, of which the preface 
 has already been given, and which Mrs. Pringle had taken 
 meat delight in preparing for her sister Nora. 
 
 JFil\i& f The volume has come to an end. 
 ^FiltiS, We weep o'er the grave of a friend ; 
 And memory sighs as she fondly retains 
 Each relic of love that among us remains ;
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 55 
 
 And this labour of love that she wrought while alive, 
 Will be dear to the bosoms of those who survive. 
 If a page be found spotless, oh let it remain 
 Unsullied and pure, as her heart without stain. 
 If a page be found empty, oh still let it rest 
 As a sign of the blank that is left in my breast. 
 She sleeps ! My beloved ! No more may I hear 
 The sound of her voice that fell soft on my ear ; 
 And closed is that eye once in joy beaming sweet, 
 And her heart full of love — does it no longer beat ? 
 She sleeps ! My beloved ! Oh bitter the tear 
 That is wrung from my bosom and drops on her bier. 
 Joy dwelt with me once ; with her spirit it fled, 
 And for ever is lost in the grave of the dead. 
 For ever ? — Oh no ! Let us trust she has gone 
 To the mansions of heaven where grief is unknown. 
 For ever ? — Oh no ! Let us turn from the grave, 
 And come to our Father who wounds but to save. 
 Let us listen to Him who hath said in his Word, 
 That He blesses their slumber who sleep in the Lord; 
 Tho' sinking in sorrow, come earnestly pray 
 For strength in our labours, while yet it is day. 
 May that comforting Spirit our Saviour doth send, 
 Still dwell in the heart of each sorrowing friend ; 
 For a soul that is contrite and kisses the rod, 
 And a heart that is broken, is dear to our God. 
 Calcutta, 25tk November, 1830. J. A. P.
 
 SELECT REMAIN'S OF 
 
 The following beautiful lines betray his feelings at the 
 opening of another year, and when " lone was his dwelling, 
 
 
 Lone is my dwelling now, 
 
 Gloomy, dark, and dreary; 
 Love's voice hath ceased to flow — 
 
 I wander woe and weary. 
 Hark ! a sound — I look around — 
 
 'Twas but the cypress sighing; 
 Or echoing walls of empty halls 
 
 To my own voice replying: 
 For lone is my dwelling now, 
 
 Dark its hall and dreary ; 
 Love's voice hath ceased to flow — 
 
 Where I sit woe and weary ! 
 The eye so bright, that chased to flight 
 
 Each care that could oppress me, — 
 ! quenched its light in death's cold night, 
 
 No more its beam may bless me ; 
 But dark is my dwelling now, 
 
 Gloomy, dull, and dreary ; 
 Love's light hath ceased to glow — 
 
 She's left me woe and weary ! 
 And cold as lead, and dull and dead, 
 
 This heavy heart lies sleeping, 
 And burning day, this tearless eye 
 
 The night long watch is keeping;
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 57 
 
 For lone is my dwelling now, 
 Dark its hall and dreary; 
 
 Love's light hath ceased to Sow- 
 Worn am I and weary. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 Champapoka Palace, Moorshedabad, 
 IZth January, 1831. 
 
 The sun will shine as bright above 
 
 In other days, — 
 The moon, we used to look on, love, 
 
 Still wins my gaze ; 
 The flowers, that shared thy gentle care, 
 
 May still bloom on, — 
 Thy bird pour forth his song but where 
 
 Wilt thou be gone I 
 
 "Tis all too true — that faded cheek — 
 
 That sunken eye ! 
 Those accents tremulous and weak, — 
 
 That tear — that sigh ! — 
 With idle hope Fve watchM thy brow 
 
 From day to day: 
 Tis vain a little while and thou 
 
 Wilt pass away ! 
 
 H
 
 •58 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 The same strain is continued on his birth-day this year. 
 
 On the brink of Time I stand, 
 
 Mourning alone; 
 I sigh for that happy land 
 
 Where care is unknown. 
 Soon, soon, love ! with thee, 
 To join in Heaven's minstrelsy, 
 While golden harps melodiously 
 
 Sound around the Throne. 
 
 Time and toil will soon be past, 
 
 The weary one will sleep, 
 The night of death will come at last, 
 
 The slumber, long and deep. 
 Soon, soon ! this spirit free, 
 Fleeting to eternity, 
 Dearest ! yet may smile with thee, 
 
 Ne'er again to weep. 
 
 \7th April, 1831. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 
 Another beautiful ode this year is : — 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 Soft is the beam o 1 the sun in the West, 
 When his daylight is done, and he sinks to his rest : — 
 Though he leave us in night, yet, o'er the dark sea, 
 His path lies in light to my ain countrie.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 59 
 
 So, — chastenM, but bright was her last look o"* faith, 
 Ere she sunk from my sight in the darkness o 1 death, — 
 But is she no gane where nae darkness can be, 
 Where hope has her hame in a fair countrie ? 
 
 There's a rest for the wearied — the cauld sleepy bed, 
 Nae wish can come near it to waken the dead. 
 There's a rest for the spirit, that the faithful can see, 
 For faith shall inherit that fair countrie. 
 
 And the bleak blast o' time on the gray head may blaw, 
 
 The nest may be herried, my best taen awa ; — 
 
 But I'll meet wi her yet, where the blast winna be, 
 
 Nor a sun ever set in that fair countrie. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 Moorskedabad, Bengal, 
 
 lOtk September, 1831. 
 
 The last of the poems of this year that I have been able 
 to discover, is the following paraphrase of John xi. 40. 
 
 John xi. 40. — Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe 
 
 thou shouldst see the glory of God ? 
 
 1 would believe Thee, blessed Lord ! 
 
 Help thou mine unbelief ! 
 And let thy promises afford 
 
 This weary heart relief. 
 
 h 2
 
 60 SELECT REMAINS OP 
 
 Beyond the gloomy vale of death, 
 
 Raise all my hopes to Thee, 
 And with the piercing eye of faith 
 
 May I thy glory see. 
 Lord, Thou hast wept to see the grief 
 
 Of mourners round the tomb, 
 And Thou canst give eternal life 
 
 To all that to Thee come; 
 With happy hope revive my heart, 
 
 That, through thy saving grace, 
 The friends, who here in sorrow part, 
 
 In heaven may see thy face. 
 Jesus ! when unto Thee at last 
 
 My spirit I resign, 
 On Thee my care O let me cast ! 
 
 Lord save me, I am thine ! 
 
 Moorshedabad, 20tk September, 1831. 
 
 1832. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 The first verses of 1832 were, I believe, the following 
 application of Mrs. Pringle's dying words.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PKINGLE. 6l 
 
 OH LOOK ON HIGH ! 
 
 2 Con. iv. 17, 18. 
 
 I kiss'd her cheek — her death-pale cheek ! 
 
 I closed her death-cold eye ! 
 But, hush ! Oh hear that voice so dear, — 
 
 " Seek Heaven ! Oh look on high P 
 
 I put her to sleep in the dark grave deep, 
 
 With the dust of the dead to lie ; 
 But a voice on the breeze, o'er the cypress trees, 
 
 Sigh'd, "Weep not! Oh look on high!" 
 
 When I mourn alone by yon gray grave stone, 
 
 And dream of all joy now bye, 
 Her own sweet smile may I see, the while 
 
 When she said, " Oh look on high ! " 
 
 And still may I hear, when starts the tear, 
 
 And swells the woe-drawn sigh, 
 These words of rest to the Christian's breast, 
 
 " Seek Heaven! Oh look on high I" 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 
 Moorshedabad, 1832. 
 
 They were the last words of a dying Christian, at the close of a con- 
 versation, a few days before she was to resign her soul to the hands of her 
 Saviour. Often do they come over the memory in the lonely hours, like 
 a ray through the dark cloud that shades a heavy heart.
 
 <»2 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 His birth-day this year produced the following- : — 
 
 MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Dei't. viii. 2, 5, 6. — And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God 
 led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee and to prove 
 thee, whether thou wonkiest keep his commandments or no. Thou shalt also 
 consider in thine heart that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord thy God 
 chasteneth thee. Therefore thou shalt keep the commandments of the Lord 
 thy God to walk in his way and to fear Him. 
 
 The toil-worn traveller, from the mountain's brow, 
 When lengthen^ shadows mark the setting sun, 
 Looks anxious for a shelter lone and low, 
 Where, weary, he may rest, — his journey done. 
 Yet on the long wild wilderness now past, 
 With all its chequer 1 d scenes of shade and smile, 
 Oft will he pause, a lingering look to cast, 
 Where a gray stone records the by-gone mile. 
 Thus, pausing, I review my lengthening way, — 
 Its joys, its griefs, in memories light appear, 
 Where time, with wrinkled cheek now old and gray, 
 Notes the conclusion of another year. 
 And, while along life's wilderness I trace, 
 Goodness and mercy marking all my days, 
 My own unworthiness, my Saviour's grace, 
 Great Spirit ! wake my soul to thankful praise 1 . 
 
 1 Psalm lxxvii. 11 — 14.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. (i.'j 
 
 Thy wisdom, Lord, these forty years hath led 
 
 Thy servant through this world's dangerous wild 18 ; 
 
 Thy bounty clothed him, and thy mercy fed, 
 
 While love unwearied spared the froward child. 
 
 This broken heart, deep in the vale of tears, 
 
 Thy grace hath taught to kiss the chastening rod 3 ; 
 
 In sorrow's hour, thy Gospel soothed my fears, 
 
 I heard a Father's voice, I own'd my God*. 
 
 While back I look upon the changeful scene, 
 
 Teach me, in all, thy Providence to see 5 ; 
 
 This lesson from the past, O let me glean, 
 
 In humble faith to cast my care on Thee 6 . 
 
 And leave me not, unfriended by thy light, 
 
 To wander on in error's winding way 7 ; 
 
 Beam o'er my soul in sorrow's gloomy night, 
 
 And shade it, Lord, from pleasure's dazzling ray 8 . 
 
 From all self-glory and presumptuous pride 9 , 
 
 To keep me pure, thy mighty aid afford 10 ; 
 
 This helpless heart, O deign my God to guide, 
 
 To love thy law and keep thy holy word. 
 
 Forsake me not, I pray, in mine old age, 
 
 When heart and strength are failing, still be nigh 11 ; 
 
 2 Psalm ciii. 8 — 14. s Ibid. cxvi. 5 — 8. 4 Ibid. xxxi. 7. 
 
 5 Ibid. xciv. 17—19. 6 Ibid. Ixii. 8 ; liv. 22. 1 Ibid. li. 9—12. 
 
 8 Ibid. lxix. 16—18. 9 Ibid. xix. 12—14 ; cxix. 124, 125. 
 
 10 Ibid. cxix. 124, 125. 1J Ibid. lxxi. 9.
 
 1)4. SELFXT REMAINS OP 
 
 And, when I close my weary pilgrimage, 
 Receive me, Father, in thy rest on high' 2 . 
 Hear, Thou who leadest Israel like a flock 13 ! 
 Support me through the deep with thy right hand u , 
 In Jordan's whelming flood be Thou my rock'*; — 
 Lord Jesus, lead me to thy Promised Land ! 
 Moorshedabad, Vjth April, 1832. J. A. Pbingle. 
 
 The following- lines upon the Motto of a Seal his beloved 
 wife wore, all breathe the same mournful strain. 
 
 IB&i CQVC ! 'Twas the motto on her seal, — 
 
 'Twas graven on her looks where love was beaming, 
 
 Her voice the truth of it would still reveal, 
 
 It sparkled in her deep dark eye. — 
 
 Through pity's tear, or when it laugh'd in joy, 
 
 Dal core was the charm that in her eye was gleaming. 
 
 dal COVt ! — Yes ! — Whene'er she sought her God, — 
 
 Of humble piety and faith the token, — 
 
 Thence joyful praise for every mercy flow'd, 
 
 And, when the Christian to her Saviour pray'd, 
 
 In holy light upon her brow it play'd, — 
 
 Tho' hush'd in awe her breath ! — tho' not a word was spoken. 
 
 12 Psalm lxxiii. 24. ,s Ibid. lxxx. 1. 14 Ibid. lxix. 1, 2. 
 
 15 Ibid, exxxviii. 7, 8 ; lxi. 1 ; xxxi. 1, 2, 3, 5.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 65 
 
 $&al COVe be our motto while we strive, 
 
 Like her, in purity and meek submission, 
 
 To live as Christian Pilgrims ought to live, 
 
 Bending our wishes to God's holy will, 
 
 Seeking for grace his precepts to fulfil, 
 
 Till glad, we meet, through Christ, where faith is lost in vision. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 Moorshedabad, 1832. 
 
 1833. 
 
 I have not been able to find any earlier verses in the year 
 1833 than the following : — 
 
 JOHNX. 11—18. 
 
 Why close thine ear against the word 
 
 That might thy comfort be, sinner? 
 Why steel thy heart against the Lord, 
 
 Who gave his life for thee, sinner? 
 His righteous wrath no longer brave, 
 
 But to the Refuge flee, sinner ; 
 Oh trust his holy word, who gave 
 
 His only Son for thee, sinner. 
 
 To ransom thee, thy Lord was slain, 
 And hung upon the tree, sinner,
 
 66 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 His blood alone could cleanse thy stain, 
 That blood He shed for thee, sinner. 
 
 And wilt thou still refuse the grace, 
 And from his mercy flee, sinner ; 
 
 Ungrateful wilt thou hide thy face, 
 
 When Christ would set thee free, sinner ? 
 
 Oh rather fall before his throne, 
 
 And, low on bended knee, brother, 
 Thy guilt, thy grief, to Him make known, 
 
 He will not turn from thee, brother. 
 No — gently He thy doubts will chide, 
 
 And lead thee in the way, brother ; 
 Come follow then our glorious Guide, 
 
 To everlasting day, brother. 
 
 Moorskedabad, March 31, 1833. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 
 PSALM XXXI. 1—7. 
 
 In Thee is my trust, O Lord ! 
 Now by thy righteous word, 
 Comfort and aid afford, 
 
 Save me, O save me ! 
 
 Rock of my strength be nigh, 
 Bend from thy throne on high, 
 Hasten to hear my cry, 
 
 Save me, O save me !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 6*7 
 
 Lord, in the evil hour, 
 Keep me from Satan's power, 
 Thou art my strength and tower, 
 
 Save me, O save me ! 
 
 Wanderers in vanity, 
 
 Far be your ways from me, 
 
 My soul I commit to Thee, 
 
 Save me, save me ! 
 
 Glory to God on high ! 
 
 Still in adversity, 
 
 Thou, O my God, art nigh, 
 
 Save me, save me ! 
 
 Again on his birth-day, this year, we have the warbling of 
 a sorrowful spirit. 
 
 Isaiah lvii. 18. — I have seen his ways and will heal him : I will lead him also, and will 
 restore comfort to him and to his mourners. 
 
 Another year, my God ! hath fled, 
 
 Since first I saw the light. — 
 Still, weaker runs life's shortening thread, 
 As down the vale of time I tread, — 
 Soon to be numbered with the dead, 
 In dark and dreary night ! 
 
 i2
 
 68 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Oh ! ma)' thy Spirit be my guide, 
 To lead me on my way. 
 
 Lord ! let me in thy strength abide, — 
 
 Still in thy promises confide, — 
 
 Teach me to trust in none beside, 
 In trouble's gloomy day. 
 
 To inward peace, to holy joy, 
 
 My weary heart restore; — 
 To comforts that can never cloy, 
 Like those that worldly thoughts employ,- 
 Bright hopes, unmingled with alloy, 
 That shine for evermore. 
 
 When Christian friends are called from me, 
 
 Their loss while I deplore ; 
 Thy mercy let the mourner see, — 
 Though broken here each tie may be, 
 Lord ! bind my loosened heart to thee, 
 In heaven, for evermore. 
 Moorshedabarf, April 17, 1833. J. A. Pringle. 
 
 The following- lines were written during a dangerous 
 illness at Moorshedabad, October 4, 1833, and are thus pre- 
 faced by himself in the MS. book from which the) are 
 taken : —
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGI.E. 69 
 
 It has pleased our Heavenly Father in wisdom infinite to visit me 
 with a fever, which may yet prove fatal. I myself feel that this is 
 probable, and I know it from the remarks that pass between others. 
 
 My very dear ones of Yair and Mount Annan, my own, 
 
 my beloved relations ! what passes in my own heart at the prospect of 
 this separation, assures me that you, too, will grieve for it. I can but 
 say to you, what she did to me before she fell asleep : " Seek Heaven ! 
 O. look on high! Call on the Lord in your trouble, and He will hear 
 you." Now, whether my days are numbered and reduced to a span, or I 
 am spared still longer in this life, may I be enabled heartily at its close 
 to say to those I love and leave behind me, — 
 
 Weep not for me, my race is almost run ; 
 Mourn not, rejoice, the prize will soon be won ; 
 My soul, through grace restored, soon wing its way 
 To glory far beyond the beam of day. 
 Yes ! for the weary one with sin oppressM, 
 Our Saviour calls to come to Him for rest ; 
 He calls who died our sinking souls to free, 
 And sinless bore our sin upon the tree. 
 I know in whom I trust, — in Him alone 
 Who pleads for man before his Father's throne, 
 Who prayed that his redeemed with Him might be, 
 And in his kingdom all his glory see. 
 
 Earth and earth's toys are fading from my sight ! 
 Dull grows my ear to all that could delight !
 
 70 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Does reason totter ? — do I dream I — I see 
 Bright messengers of Heaven beckon me. 
 Oh, say, does sound deceive me, that I hear 
 Sweet songs of angels melting on mine ear ? 
 How my poor prison'd spirit pants to fly, 
 And seek my Saviour in his rest on high ; 
 There with the choir of Heaven my voice to raise, 
 And tune the harp to sound my Maker's praise. 
 What joy to meet upon that happy shore 
 My heart's one love, — to meet — and part no more ! 
 Shall I with her I moura'd so long alone, 
 Yet worship God in Heaven before his throne I 
 With her kneel hand in hand all clothed in light, 
 While in his praise our mingling souls unite ? 
 O lovely vision ! near and nearer come, 
 The guides of glory sent to lead me home. 
 
 The icy waters of the gulf of death 
 Chill all my limbs and check my lab'ring breath : 
 Thy servant, Lord, is ready ; — in this hour 
 Preserve my soul with thine almighty power, 
 Home to thy fold the way-worn wanderer bring. 
 Dark tomb — where now thy triumph ? 
 Where, O Death, thy sting ?
 
 
 r-r~*SZ$i ; 
 
 P. 
 
 
 ■Uto 
 V:. 
 
 >/A 
 
 • 
 
 

 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 71 
 
 The following note and verses were written in a book 
 along with the Psalm, " By Babel's Marshy Stream." 
 
 Sick, wasted, and worn, when looking over the long, flat, weary 
 plains through which the broad Ganges rolls his turbid tide, the wanderer 
 who has sighed to cool his fevered lips with one fresh breeze from the 
 brown heathery hills, so sweet to childhood, so dear to memory, and who 
 can even, while sinking strength and ebbing life show too plainly how- 
 vain the wish, still long for one last look of Scotland, and those friends 
 whose sweet society did make her hills indeed his" home — yes ! that 
 wanderer can feel, to his heart's heart, the exquisite natural but mournful 
 beauties of the Psalm, which the following is an attempt to imitate in 
 English. 
 
 PSALM CXXXVII. 1—8. 
 
 By Babel's marshy stream we sat, 
 
 Fast down our cheeks salt tears were falling, 
 For, aye, our hearts sought Sion's gate — . 
 
 Far, far from home, home thoughts recalling ! 
 Our harps, neglected and unstrung, 
 
 With music's voice no longer blending, 
 Upon the willow trees we hung, 
 
 O'er Babylon's dark waters bending. 
 
 For spoilers taunt our captive band, — 
 
 They seek for songs amidst our sadness ; — 
 
 The song we sung in Judah's land, 
 
 When Sion bloom'd in days of gladness :
 
 72 SELECT KEMAINS OF 
 
 Can exiles on a distant strand, — 
 
 To holy hymns the harp awaking, — 
 Can captives, in a stranger land, 
 
 Sing Sion's song when hearts are breaking? 
 
 Yet, oh, this voice must cease in death, 
 
 Ere aught can from my heart remove thee ! 
 Jerusalem ! my latest breath 
 
 Shall sweetly sing how dear I love thee ! 
 Ere I forget thee, lovely land, 
 
 My fingers, now the harpstrings sweeping, 
 Must lose their charm, this skilful hand 
 
 In cold forgetfulness lie sleeping ! 
 
 O Lord ! remember Edom's pride, 
 
 When thy dread day hung o'er our nation,- — 
 Ruin'd be her towers ! they cried, — 
 
 Low laid in dust and desolation ! 
 Dire retribution yet shall meet 
 
 Proud Babylon's ill-fated daughter ; 
 Thy mangled babes shall strew thy street, 
 
 While foes exult o'er infant-slaughter. 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 Moorshedabad, October, 1833. 
 
 There is no date to the following- lines, but they appear
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 73 
 
 to have some reference to his visit to the tomb of her lie 
 mourned. 
 
 Is it a voice from heav'n above 
 
 That calls the wancTrer home? 
 Is it our Saviour's voice of love 
 
 That bids the weary come? 
 Is it a hand of heav'n I see, 
 Through the gloom, that beckons me, 
 Where lightsome day, most gloriously, 
 
 Beams beyond the tomb? 
 
 And may a sinful man presume 
 
 To smile upon the grave? 
 And calmly sink into the tomb, — 
 
 The King of terror's cave? 
 Yes! — Death hath lost his sting! 
 Harken ! Holy Angels sing, 
 " Hell is vanquish^ ! Christ our King 
 
 The ransom'd soul doth save J 11 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 PSALM XXX. 
 
 Thy praises my God will I sing: 
 
 Thou, Lord, hast still been my aid ; 
 My soul from the snare Thou didst bring; 
 
 Thou hast heal'd me, O Lord, when I pray'd ; 
 
 K
 
 7^ 
 
 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 From the gloomy grave — 
 From death's dismal cave, 
 Thou my soul dost save and raise. 
 Still, still my song shall be, 
 My God, in hymns to Thee, 
 
 join, ye Saints, with me in praise; — 
 
 Swift is God's wrath in its flight, 
 
 His favour brings life on its wings ; 
 Though the mourner sat weeping at night, 
 For joy in the morning he sings. 
 In life's sunny hour secure, 
 Though clouds may lower, 
 
 1 fancied still my tower stood alone. 
 
 Thy favour made me proud. 
 Thou didst thy face but shroud, 
 My vaunting once so loud was gone ; 
 
 I cried to the Lord, and I prayed, 
 
 My God, in my death is there gain, 
 Hear me, and help me, I said, 
 In mercy restore me again. 
 
 Thou my wounded breast 
 
 Hast restored to rest, 
 And me in gladness dressed again ; 
 
 Join the song with me, 
 
 To Thee, O God, to Thee, 
 Loud shall the shout be. — Amen.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. YO 
 
 1834. 
 
 The first piece of this year, are the following lines. 
 
 Hebrews xiii. 5. — Be content with such things as ye have; for He hath said, I will 
 never leave thee, nor forsake thee. 
 
 In the original Greek : 
 
 Avrot yap eipr/Kev, ov prj ae ava>, ov8' ov fxrj o~e eyKaraktTrat : 
 For He hath said, " No, I will never leave thee ! No, no, I will not forsake thee." 
 
 Genesis xxviii. 15. — And behold I am with thee and will keep thee in all places whi- 
 ther thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land : for I Mill not leave 
 thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of. 
 
 Pilgrim, though these weary sighs 1 
 Breathe of pain and speak of care 2 , 
 
 Oh covet not what God denies, 
 Be content the cross to bear 3 . 
 
 Time may of health and wealth bereave thee, 
 Ruthless death, all-lonely make thee 4 , — 
 Still He saith, " I will not leave thee, 
 No ; I never will forsake thee 5 . 11 
 
 Let no repining wish intrude, 
 Blighted though they prospect be 6 , 
 
 1 Psalm xlii. 5, 3. 2 Luke xxii. 42. 3 Heb. xii. 1 ; James v. 1 1 . 
 
 4 Isaiah xl. 1 ; xlix. 14, 15. 5 Ibid. xli. 10 ; xlii. 1C. 
 
 G Ibid. xlv. 7, 9, 22 ; Lam. iii. 39 ; Isaiah Ivii. 15. 
 
 K 2
 
 76 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Cast all thy care upon thy God, 
 Thy Redeemer cares for thee 7 . 
 
 Not willingly the Lord would grieve thee", 
 Though trouble now may overtake thee, 
 He hath said, " Til never leave thee, 
 Christian, I will not forsake thee 9 ." 
 
 Then, through the Saviour, seek thy God 10 , 
 Thy heart in supplication raise 11 , — 
 
 Bow beneath his chastening rod 12 , 
 He can turn each prayer to praise. 
 
 Oh, call on Him who can relieve thee 13 , 
 In trouble to thy God betake thee ; 
 He hath promised not to leave thee 14 , 
 " Never will thy God forsake thee." 
 
 Poor weary weeping one .' to Christ 
 Come in faith, and calm thy fear 15 ; 
 
 To give the heavy-laden rest 16 , 
 To bring thee home, thy Lord is near 17 . 
 
 7 Psalm lv. 22 ; 1 Peter v. 6, 7 ; John iii. 16. " Lam. iii. 31 — :^S. 
 
 3 John xiv. 18; Matt, xxviii. 20. I0 Heb. iv. 10; llosen vi. 1. 
 
 " Lam. iii. 41. 12 Isaiah xliii. 1, 2, 11. 13 Psalm 1. 15. " Dent. xxxi. 8. 
 
 15 John vi. 37 ; Matt. xiv. 31 ; John vi. 20. 
 
 16 Matt. xi. 28. 17 Jolin xiv. 1—3.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER TRINGLE. 77 
 
 No longer let the world deceive thee 18 , 
 Hear his voice — to life awake thee 19 ! 
 Christ hath said, " I'll never leave thee." 
 Pilgrim ! God will not forsake thee. 
 
 J. A. PrINGLE. 
 
 Moorshedabad, April 6, 1834. 
 
 Genesis xxviii. 16.— And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, " Surely the Lord 
 
 is in this place ; and I knew it not." 
 
 I rather think the following lines were written on his 
 birth-day, April 17, this year, though they do not bear that 
 date. 
 
 In the sunburnt jungles of dark Hindustan, 
 
 While wasted and worn I roam, 
 How oft is my heart in my own native land, 
 
 Far away among visions of home ; 
 Where the silvery wave in each river and rill 
 
 To me is the fairest that flows, 
 Where the breath of the blast on the brown heather hill 
 
 Is the sweetest — the freshest that blows ! 
 
 When listless and lonely I pant for the breeze, 
 
 In the feverish fens of Bengal, 
 While drooping and damp are the leaves on the trees, 
 
 That hang o'er yon moss-covered wall ; 
 
 18 1 John ii. 15—17 ; Rom. viii. 32. ,(l Eph. v. 14.
 
 ~^> SELECT UKM.WXS OF 
 
 O what would I give just to breathe once again 
 
 The blast as it blows over Yair, 
 To quaff, as they glide down the dear native glen, 
 
 Tweed's waters so cool and so fair ! 
 
 Time was — it is past — when, unclouded with care, 
 
 All nature looked lovely to me, — 
 Thy heart for my home — e'en Bengala was fair, 
 
 Sweet love, when enlivened by thee. 
 Ay — past is my day of romance, and its glow, 
 
 That tinted each landscape with light, 
 Long quenched in the tear-drops from sorrow that How. 
 
 Soon will set in the grave's gloomy night. 
 
 Yet, why am I sad ? Here Thou seest me, Lord ! 
 
 And the desert shall bloom as the rose ; 
 Thy comforting Spirit still breathes in thy word, 
 
 Where the water of life ever flows. 
 Though fainting and weary, Thou lookest on me, 
 
 Thou guidest the wanderer's way ; 
 Wherever I am — never lonely with Thee — 
 
 O still be my strength and ray stay ! 
 
 Near Bikrumpore. Zilla Kishmtqua, 
 April, 1834. 
 
 J. A. 
 
 The above written on a blank leaf at the end of Baxter's Saint's Rest.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 71' 
 
 1835. 
 
 The following lines were inclosed in a letter to his sister 
 Margaret from the Cape of Good Hope, a name he said he 
 liked. 
 
 THE SUNSHINY MORNING. 
 
 Psalm xxx. 5. 
 
 There's a stage in life's journey when, careless and gay, 
 Through dreams and delusions delighted we stray, 
 While little we fancy a dreary dark day 
 
 May follow the sunshiny morning. 
 
 If health be our portion, if wealth be our pride, 
 If home look all lovely, on thoughtless we glide ; 
 Do the gifts to the Giver our gratitude guide, 
 
 While we bask in life's sunshiny morning ! 
 
 But sickness may follow, and riches may fly, 
 Affliction may change the glad smile to a sigh, 
 As a cold gloomy cloud will come over the sky 
 
 To sadden the sunshiny morning 
 
 O let not such changes unheeded go past, 
 Prepare for the tempest, and hasten to cast 
 The anchor of hope in the Rock that will last, 
 And wait for a sunshiny morning.
 
 80 SELECT REMAIN'S OF 
 
 Tis sweet, when the clouds of adversity lower, 
 The soft beam of mercy to see through the shower, 
 As the raindrops that hang on the wet drooping flower 
 Reflect the bright sunshiny morning. 
 
 In grief or in danger, in want or in pain, 
 Despair not then, Pilgrim, but stedfast remain ; 
 The night that is cloudy may clear up again, 
 And change to a sunshiny morning. 
 
 April 17, 1835. 
 
 The following translation of the 84th Psalm, which 1 find 
 in a letter to his sister Charlotte, from the Cape also, May, 
 1835. 
 
 PSALM LXXXIV. 
 
 Lord God of Sabaoth, how lovely, how sweet, 
 
 In the place Thou hast chosen, to kneel at thy feet ! 
 
 The wish of my soul, the desire of my heart, 
 
 Is to dwell in thy presence, to be where Thou art. 
 
 The sparrow, O Lord, in thy temple doth rest ! 
 
 For the swallow thine altars have furnish 1 d a nest ! 
 
 And there her young nestlings enjoy an abode, 
 
 They dwell where Thou dwellest, my King and my God !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. SI 
 
 Thrice happy are they who may meet in thy place, 
 To sing in thy praises, to pray for thy grace ; 
 And blessed the people whose strength is the Lord, 
 The guide of whose hearts is the way of thy word : 
 
 Who find it a spring in the valley of grief, — 
 A well of refreshment to bring them relief; 
 Still onward, still upward, their footsteps shall be, 
 Till the God of their glory in Zion they see. 
 
 Lord God of Sabaoth, O bow down thine ear ! 
 The prayer of thy servant, thou Holy One hear ! 
 Through Christ thine anointed in mercy look down, 
 Our strength, our preserver, look on thine own ! 
 
 One day in thy courts is more pleasant to me 
 Than ages devoted to folly could be ; 
 And the least in thy temple is happier far 
 Than the great in the tents of ungodliness are. 
 
 For the Lord is a sun and a shield to his own ; 
 All grace and all glory proceed from his Throne ; 
 No gift that is good will his mercy refuse 
 To such as the pathway of holiness choose. 
 
 » 
 
 Blessed, oh blessed for ever is he, 
 
 Lord God of Sabaoth, who trusteth in Thee ! 
 
 J. A. P.
 
 82 SELECT REiMAINS OF 
 
 Malachi iv. 2.— But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of Righteousness arise 
 
 with healing on his wings. 
 
 Rise, Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 
 Lord, let thy light appear ! 
 Thou wilt not humble prayer despise, — 
 
 Thee, Lord of Hosts, we fear. 
 Rise, Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 
 With healing on thy wings; 
 Thy beam the tear of sorrow dries, 
 
 And heavenly comfort brings. 
 
 Rise, Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 
 O shed abroad thy ray ! 
 For Thee we look — with longing eyes, 
 
 We watch thy dawning day. 
 Rise, Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 
 And shine from pole to pole ! 
 Dispel the gloom that round us lies, — 
 
 Enlighten every soul. 
 
 Rise, Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 
 Within our bosoms glow ! 
 Draw from our hearts sin's deepest dyes, 
 
 And make us white as snow.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 83 
 
 Rise, Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 
 Thy goodness may we see ; 
 And, where thy glory lights the skies, 
 
 Lord, let our dwelling be ! 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 Calcutta, December 25, 1835. 
 
 1836. 
 The first piece of this year is the following, on his birth-day : — 
 
 • Matthew xi. 23. — Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will 
 
 give you rest. 
 
 Hath conscience discovered the sin of thy heart, — 
 Hath reason revealed how helpless thou art 1 , — 
 Are science and learning unable, combined, 
 A cure for thy terrified spirit to find ? 
 
 Contrite sinner, come to Jesus, 
 
 A bruised reed He will not break, 
 
 From sin and wrath his ransom frees us, 
 
 Pray for mercy for his sake. 
 
 Doth nature give way beneath poverty's frown", — 
 Hath the blast of adversity over thee blown, — 
 Hath friendship been false, or hath malice been bold, — 
 Hath the sun of this world set cheerless and cold 3 ? 
 
 1 1 Cor. i. 17 to end. 2 James ii. 5. 3 Eccles. vii. 14 ; Psalm cxviii. 5 — 9. 
 
 L2
 
 <S+ SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Take the cross and follow Jesus, 
 Look for comfort in his word, 
 That never did nor will deceive us, 
 Cast all thy care upon thy Lord. 
 
 Hath the eye of affection and sympathy smiled, 
 To lighten thy toil in life's wilderness wild, — 
 Hath the loved, and the lovely, sunk into the tomb, 
 And changed to a desert the joys of a home 4 ? 
 
 Christian mourner, lean on Jesus, 
 
 He hath wept for human grief; 
 
 In solitude our Saviour sees us, 
 
 Hears our prayer and grants relief. 
 
 In the darkness of danger, of dread, and despair, 
 Doth confidence fail thee when evil is near 5 ? 
 When sickness o'erwhelms thy labouring breath, 
 Doth terror alarm with a prospect of death? 
 
 In all thy troubles come to Jesus, 
 
 Pray to be with patience blest ; 
 
 He hath promised to release us, 
 
 Christ will give the weary rest. 
 
 J. A. Pbingle. 
 April 17, 1836. 
 
 * Job v. 6—11. s Rom. viii. 35—39.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 85 
 
 The next is the following beautiful burst of feeling, on 
 seeing the remains of his beloved sister at Durie. 
 
 Je be mi ah xv. 9. — She that hath borne seven languisheth ; she hath given up the ghost; 
 her sun hath gone down while it was yet day. 
 
 Pale is that placid face, faded its glow ! 
 Spirit that kindled it, where art thou now? 
 Clingest thou still to clay, sleeping in dust? 
 Spirit that cannot he, — God is our trust ! 
 
 Soul of the loved one, where hast thou fled ? 
 Where is thy dwelling-place, soul of the dead? 
 High o'er the starry sky, far through its dome, 
 Angels have wafted thee hence to thy home. 
 
 Light of the lonely one, brightest and best ! 
 
 Where hath thy spirit flown, where doth it rest? 
 
 For ever with Jesus, joyous, and blessM, 
 
 Robed in His righteousness, there is thy rest ! 
 
 J. A. Pringle. 
 Durie, December 6, 1836. 
 
 As a sequel to these lines, I insert here some verses by 
 Mrs. Christie, of Durie, which her brother admired much, and 
 had placed among his precious relics : —
 
 86 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 ON THE CREST AND MOTTO OF THE PRINGLES OF 
 
 WHYTBANK. 
 
 "Sursum," and a Winged Heart. 
 
 How glorious were the days of old, 
 
 When noble knights and warriors bold 
 
 Arose at love or honour's call, 
 
 Bravely to conquer or to fall; 
 
 And oft a higher aim inspired 
 
 Their souls by warm devotion fired, 
 
 Nor could they brook that Islam's race 
 
 Usurped the Christian's noblest place, 
 
 But left for Syria's rugged strand 
 
 Their much-loved home and native land, 
 
 From impious Pagans' power to save 
 
 Their great Redeemer's hallowed grave, 
 
 That Pilgrims from afar might come 
 
 To worship at his lowly tomb. 
 
 But, born in more enlightened years, 
 
 How vain to us this strife appears ! 
 
 How vain that spot to watch with care ! — 
 
 The Saviour's image is not there, 
 
 But dwells in each believer's heart, 
 
 From whence it never will depart. 
 
 But while their ignorance we blame, 
 i 
 
 Their zeal at least respect may claim,
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 
 
 87 
 
 And sure a lesson they afford, 
 
 How Christians ought to love their Lord. 
 
 Like them I seek my life to spend 
 In living for lifers noblest end ; 
 Beneath the banner of the cross 
 Would count my richest gain but loss, 
 And, careless of this world's renown, 
 Seek to obtain a heavenly crown. 
 
 And while each warlike crest I view, 
 With each device sublime and true, 
 Fd seek among these crests to find 
 Some motto still to bear in mind; 
 And surely none appears so fair 
 As that my fathers used to bear. 
 Then let me choose it for my own, 
 Be this my aim and this alone, 
 That upwards on the wings of love 
 My heart may soar to realms above, — 
 And may no mean or grov'lling thing 
 Make me descend or droop the wing, 
 Till, life's temptations safely past, 
 I rest in heavenly peace at last ! 
 
 Elizabeth Pringle, Yair.
 
 88 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 The date of this beautiful hymn is not given, but it must 
 have been about this period. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 When unto Thee, O God, our voice we raise, 
 Upon our souls thy Holy Spirit shed, 
 That Thou may'st, while we sing thy holy praise, 
 In spirit and in truth be worshipped. 
 
 Our life, our breath, our all we owe to Thee, 
 Thy Providence supplies our daily food, 
 Thy power protects us, and thy hand we see, 
 Where'er we turn, extended for our good. 
 
 But chief of all we magnify thy grace 
 
 For the glad tidings in the Gospel given, 
 
 That to our sinful, lost and ruined race, 
 
 Through Christ our Saviour, shows the way to heaven. 
 
 Almighty Father ! we will sing thy prpise, 
 Thy name, O blessed Saviour, we adore, 
 Spirit of truth, to Thee our hymn we raise, 
 Glory, God, to Thee for evermore ! 
 
 J. A. P.
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 89 
 
 On the opening of the new Church at Bridekirk. 
 
 Though weak and unworthy, 
 
 Great God, to adore Thee, 
 We come to thy temple our homage to pay; 
 
 Thou Holy One hear us, 
 
 Thy Spirit be near us, 
 Oh, dwell in us richly on this thine own day! 
 
 By thought, and commission, 
 
 Word, deed, and omission, 
 We've broken thy laws, and, as sheep, gone astray: 
 
 Our trespass is grievous, 
 
 In mercy forgive us, 
 To grace, through our Saviour, restore us we pray. 
 
 Our sin while confessing, 
 
 We pray for a blessing 
 On all that we think, that we do, that we say. 
 
 Oh, shed from above 
 
 Christian Faith, Hope, and Love, 
 To beam in our bosoms, and lighten our way ! 
 
 Though ills may oppress us, 
 Let nothing distress us, 
 Thy peace be our portion, thy strength be our stay ;
 
 90 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 Till, summon'd to meet Thee, 
 Our glad spirits greet Thee, 
 "Our Lord and our God," through eternity's day. 
 
 J. A. Pringi.e. 
 Brydkirk, Sunday, October 9, 1836. 
 
 1837. 
 On his birth-day this year, he writes : — 
 
 Mark vii. 37. — He hath done all things well. 
 
 Lord, ere I sink to rest, 
 
 O wake my soul to song ! 
 And may thy Spirit in my breast 
 
 The note of praise prolong. 
 
 Thou hast done all things well; 
 
 God is our God always; 
 Thy mercies every thought excel, 
 
 And all our power thy praise. 
 
 For mercies ever new 
 
 Thy name 111 joyful bless, 
 And in affliction's lessons too 
 
 Thy goodness 111 confess. 
 
 Thou hast done all things well, 
 
 Thy ways are just and right, 
 In praise let all our voices dwell, 
 
 And weary hearts unite !
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. { J\ 
 
 1 
 
 But O, to think upon 
 
 Thy love, that for us gave 
 Our Saviour Jesus Christ, thy Son, 
 
 Our sinful souls to save ! 
 
 Oh ! Thou dost all things well, 
 
 Our Saviour and our Lord ! 
 Age unto age thy love shall tell, — 
 
 Thy glory shall record. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 The following is a reply to one of his sisters, who wrote to 
 him from England, requesting a Christmas song. 
 
 Oh seek not the song of the old, 
 
 When the tale of his youth hath been told ; — 
 
 The muses are mute, — unstrung is the lute, 
 
 The spirit of poesy cold. 
 
 To the young and the joyous belong, 
 
 Mirth, music, and dancing, and song, 
 
 While the dear ones they prize live to gladden their eyes, 
 
 And hope in the bosom beats strong. 
 
 Oh seek not the song of the old, 
 When the tale of his youth hath been told ; — 
 The minstrel is mute, and broken the lute, 
 The spirit of poesy cold. 
 
 M 2
 
 92 SELECT REMAINS OF 
 
 And sorrow hath clouded the day, 
 
 Lifo's summer hath faded away, 
 
 And the time hath gone by, when a smile or a sigh 
 
 Could gladden or sadden the lay. 
 
 But yet may the song of the old 
 
 Revive when his days have been told ; — 
 
 When lull\l is his breath on the bosom of death, 
 
 And he sleeps in his sepulchre cold. 
 
 Oh then may his glad spirit rise, 
 
 Soaring high over sorrow and sighs, 
 
 And, with Seraphim, raise a loud anthem of praise, 
 
 Where the Lord wipeth tears from all eyes ! 
 
 J. A. Pkingi.e. 
 
 1838. 
 
 The last piece I have it in my power to give, was com- 
 posed a short month before his decease, and written in a book 
 of his verses set to times, which he gave his sister Charlotte. 
 November, 1838. 
 
 On tho lark aye sings the sweeter 
 
 The higher that it flies, 
 And the heavy heart's aye lighter 
 
 When to God its breathings rise;
 
 JOHN ALEXANDER PRINGLE. 93 
 
 But the wing will droop that's weary, 
 
 The lark sits silent down, 
 So the sinking heart grows dreary, 
 
 Its music ceases soon. 
 
 Then let it not surprise thee, 
 
 That when I take the lyre, 
 Sweet memories of mercy 
 
 The lowly song inspire. 
 The heart unhurt, unhealed, 
 
 Another lay may choose, — 
 God's love to man revealed 
 
 Shall wake the grateful muse. 
 
 The eye in morning brightness, 
 
 Unclouded by a tear, 
 Sheds its own sunny lightness 
 
 On all that dazzles here ; — 
 Cast sorrow"^ shadow o^r it, 
 
 And shorn of every ray, 
 He only can restore it 
 
 Who wipes the tear away. 
 
 Then let it not surprise thee, 
 
 That when I take the lyre, 
 Sweet memories of mercy 
 
 The humble song inspire.
 
 94 SELECT REMAINS OF JOHN ALEXANDER PR1XGLE. 
 
 The heart unhurt, unhealed, 
 May look for other lays, 
 
 Our peace in Jesus sealed 
 
 Shall wake my bosom's praise. 
 
 J. A. P. 
 
 " And as the lark sweetly sings while she soars on high, but is sud- 
 denly silenced when she falls to the earth, so is the frame of the soul 
 most delightful and divine, while it keeps in the views of God by con- 
 templation. Alas ! we make there too short a stay, fall down again, and 
 lay by our music.'" Baxter's Saint's Best. 
 
 " The above," says his sister, ' ; was a favourite passage of his, marked 
 in the book, — he made me read it to him one evening, November, ISoS." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Harrison and Co., Printers, St. Martin's La.ve. 
 


 
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