So, though my tears were blinding me, I ran back, fast as fast could be, To come again to you;
And here close by-this Squire I met, Who asked (so mild) what made me fret ; And when I told him true,
'I will go with you, child,' he said;
God sends me to this dying bed.'
Mother, he's here, hard by."While thus the little maiden spoke, The man, his back against an oak,
Looked on with glistening eye.
The bridle on his neck flung free, With quivering flank and trembling knee, Pressed close his bonny bay;
A statelier man, a statelier steed, Never on greensward paced, I rede,
Than those stood there that day.
So, while the little maiden spoke, The man, his back against an oak,
Looked on with glistening eye And folded arms; and in his look Something that, like a sermon book, Preached-" All is vanity."
But when the dying woman's face Turned toward him with a wishful gaze, He stepped to where she lay;
And kneeling down, bent over her, Saying, "I am a minister-
My sister, let us pray."
And well, withouten book or stole, (God's words were printed on his soul) Into the dying ear
He breathed, as 'twere an angel's strain, The things that unto life pertain,
And death's dark shadows clear.
He spoke of sinners' lost estate, In Christ renewed-regenerate;
Of God's most bless'd decree, That not a single soul should die Which turns repentant with the cry, 66 'Be merciful to me."
He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, Endured but for a little while
In patience, faith, and love- Sure, in God's own good time, to be Exchanged for an eternity
Of happiness above.
Then as the spirit ebbed away- He raised his hands and eyes, to pray That peaceful it might pass;
And then the orphans' sobs alone Were heard as they knelt every one Close round on the green grass.
Such was the sight their wond'ring eyes Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise, Who reined their coursers back,
Just as they found the long astray, Who, in the heat of chase that day, Had wandered from their track.
Back each man reined his pawing steed, And lighted down, as if agreed, In silence at his side;
And there, uncovered all, they stood- It was a wholesome sight and good That day for mortal pride:
For of the noblest of the land
Was that deep-hushed, bare-headed band; And central in the ring,
By that dead pauper on the ground, Her ragged orphans clinging round, Kuelt their anointed King!
Ir came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold: "Peace to the earth, goodwill to men From heaven's all-gracious King ;"- The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven sky they come With peaceful wings unfurled ; And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world: Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on heavenly wing, And ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife The world has suffered longBeneath the angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong; And men, at war with men, hear not The love-song which they bring : Oh! hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the angels sing!
And ye, beneath life's crushing load Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow; Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing:
Oh! rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!
For, lo! the days are hastening on, By prophet-bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years Comes round the age of gold; When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendours fling,
And the whole world send back the song Which now the angels sing!
MERRILY, merrily, goes the bark,
On a breeze from the northward free; So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark, and Colonsay,
And all the group of islets gay
That guard famed Staffa round. Then all unknown its columns rose, Where dark and undisturbed repose The cormorant had found; And the shy seal had quiet home, And weltered in that wondrous dome, Where, as to shame the temples decked By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seemed, would raise A minster to her Maker's praise ! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend; Nor of a theme less solemn tells
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolonged and high, That mocks the organ's melody. Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old Iona's holy fane,
That Nature's voice might seem to say, "Well hast thou done, frail child of clay! Thy humble powers that stately shrine Tasked high and hard-but witness mine."
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry."--
"Now, who be ye would cross Loch Gyle, This dark and stormy water?"—
"O! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle ; And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?"-
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief-I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady :
And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."-
By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking;
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