AULD SCOTLAND'S YELLOW BROOM. WE welcome thee, thou joyfu' June, When thro' the leafy woods resound 'Tis sweet to linger in the shade But let me tread the upland height When young hearts leaped wi' fond delight Deep in the woody vale below A hundred bards ha'e sung its praise, A hundred yet shall proudly raise The patriotic strain. For aye where'er a loyal Scot Has found a humble hame, Warm hearts will join the joyfu' shout- I ha'e nae wealth o' lands or gear, But ane wha hauds auld Scotland's name May fitly claim the yellow broom Yes, let it wave in native grace, Then till the majesty an' dread I'll slumber sweetly 'neath its shade- TO A SLEEPING CHILD. BEAUTIFUL, innocent, rosy, and fair, In thy sweet cradle bed slumbering there; Holy and calm, yea, unclouded thy rest, As the love borne for thee in a fond mother's breast. Beautiful, innocent, spotless, sin-free, Are there no angels pure watching o'er thee, Shedding their fragrance sweet, Heaven's own flowers, Seeking to consecrate homes such as ours? Beautiful, innocent, o'er thee I bow, Tracing the calm on that rare rounded brow, Beautiful, innocent, child of our love- Prizing the treasure, praise Thee the kind Giver. Beautiful, innocent, spotless, sin-free, Spirits angelic are watching o'er thee, Shedding their fragrance sweet, Heaven's own flowers, O, may they consecrate homes such as ours! THE DEPARTURE OF WINTER AND RETURN OF SPRING. 'TIS past an' gane, the gloomy reign o' Winter stern an drear, Wi' furious blasts an' withering frosts that filled the heart wi' fear Wi' raging tempests roll'd along, owre wide unfathomed seas, But now the lingering snawy tints are fadin' fast awa' Where, 'mid the darkness of the past, the Druid's flame did blaze; And where the lonely mist-crowned Cairns their solemn vigils keep, The wild bird's cry is heard to wake the solitude so deep; 'Mong scenes where towering snowy wreaths like rival mountains rose, The fleecy flocks now roam at will, or peacefully repose. Now joyously the sunbeams kiss Cardon and Culterfell, Where erst the simple psalm of praise did up their valleys swell, When ane* wha saw before him placed the martyr's bitter cup Did point to Him who on the throne was high and lifted up; * Holmes Common was a favourite resort of Donald Cargill, the famous field preacher. On the last occasion on which he preached there, which was only a few months before his execution, he spoke on the 6th chapter of Isaiah, where the Almighty is spoken of as sitting upon a throne high and lifted up"; and also on Romans xi. 20. "The scene," says Mr Whitfield, was sublime and impressive beyond description. He drew his illustrations from the hills that surrounded them like bulwarks of defence, with Cardon and Culterfell lifting their kingly heads above the rest far up into the clouds. He was drawing near the close of his life, and a foreboding of his coming martyrdom tinged his thoughts and words with a prophetic power that gave him a strange fascination over his audience. Six weeks later and the voice that awakened the mountian echoes of the solitudes of Glenholm was to be lifted up for the last time upon the uplands of Dunsyre, and to bear its dying testimony in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh.' Or, standing on the heathy banks of Holmes' pure infant stream, Declared His love was found of those who sought not after Him. How dear ye are! ye heath clad hills that proudly round us rise, With scenery rich and varied like your mingled memories, Yet fairest do ye seem by far when wintry storms give way, And earth rejoiceth in the smile of April and of May. Thrice welcome then, thou joyfu' Spring, wi' days sae licht an' lang, Wi' burstin' buds, wi' openin' flowers, an' mony a mellow sang, And when the velvet sward sae green wi' lichtsome foot we've prest, We feel sweet Hope renew her reign ance mair within the breast. CARGILL'S LAST SERMON. Verses occasioned by a visit to Dunsyre Common, where the celebrated field preacher, Donald Cargill, preached on the last day of his liberty, his text on that memorable occasion being the words in Isaiah xxvi. 20 and 21-"Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast. For, behold, the Lord cometh out of his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity; the earth also shall disclose her blood, and shall no more cover her slain." A reward of 5000 merks being offered, Cargill was apprehended the following morning at the house of Mr Fisher of Covington Mill, by Irving of Bonshaw and a company of dragoons. The rough and contemptuous treatment he received, and the events that intervened between the capture and his execution in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh are too well known to require rehearsal. AND do I pace the peaceful spot Where that undaunted champion stood, And fearlessly God's people taught While tyrants thirsted for his blood? And are those lone, blue hills the last Ah! surely then this desert waste Is more than consecrated ground. And were the eager listeners here Around the noble preacher ranged In this grand amphitheatre That still remaineth all unchanged? And did he speak as 'neath the shade When vividly before me rise The lives of true and trusty men, The tale of whose self-sacrifice Makes sacred many a moorland glen; Men who did drink the cup of woe And braved the scaffold and the steel, That Scotland's sons might share and know The highest freedom-holiest weal. Let others love the battle-field, The scenes of carnage and of war, And join with those who have extolled The victor and the conqueror ; Yet is not oft the joyful shout That fills the air and rends the sky But hushed, and then we hear aloud The widow's wail, the orphan's cry? And are not oft those glorious deeds, Whose record history proudly saves, The work of men who are indeed Of fouler lusts the helpless slaves? Ah! dear to me the moorland glens Where foemen did those wanderers chase, The mist-crowned hills, the caves and dens, That often proved their hiding-place. From tyrants who, though armed with power |