Part 8

Around his farm, or in his field, The moor birds hatch'd and fed; And when at work, the lapwing cried, And flutter'd o'er his head.

While thus his little field he drain'd, Or temper'd the wild sod, His household too with care were train'd, To love and fear their God.

The field, the garden, and the tree, For him their produce bore, His table too, the bee supplied, From her delicious store.

The Lord who thus his substance blest, Did all his wants supply; And pleasantly to quench his thirst, A brook ran murmuring by.

I saw him on his dying bed, When strength began to fail, I saw him lift his languid head,-- And heard his happy tale.

He then began to bless the day, His sins had been made known, When he began to weep and pray, And look'd to Christ alone.

He bless'd that Book his heart had cheer'd, And tried its worth to tell; He bles'd that Blood which once was shed, To save his soul from hell.

Yes! Christ to him was precious then, His company was sweet; He said, His love was in his heart, The world beneath his feet.

This, when the monster Death arriv'd, Did solid comfort bring; That blood he felt had quite depriv'd The monster of his sting.

"This body chang'd, shall soon," said he, "With saints and angels join, And sing to all eternity, The depths of Love Divine!"

SOLITARY REFLECTIONS!

(_Occasioned by the death of a newly married pair, who drowned themselves, after living together three weeks._)

On Esk's old bank the watery willows weep, Where wife and husband launch'd into the deep;-- And from their cottage sought an early grave, To end their jarring, in the peaceful wave

Ah, hapless pair! who can withhold the tear, When he the melancholy place draws near! The dire event to future times will prove, The short enjoyment of your wedded love!

How apt are earthly prospects to deceive, And leave her disappointed sons to grieve! How oft will trifling things the mind perplex, Where grace doth not her influences mix!

The morning shines,--to church they haste away, And noisy guns proclaim the wedding day; Within three weeks to the dark grave they're borne, To slumber till the Resurrection morn!

Around, the neighbours mourn their hapless lot, And weeping children haunt the dreary spot; The lippering wave, rais'd by the nightly gale, Tells to the Moon her melancholy tale!

ON SOME WHO HAD LEFT US, AND SPOKEN DISRESPECTFULLY OF US!

"_There is a generation that are pure in their own eyes, and yet is not washed from their filthiness._" (Proverbs xxx. 12.)

Yes! once they met with us, and gave us the hand, Uniting to sing and to pray; But long could not bear the rigid command, So off they went lilting away!

Forsaking the vulgar, whom now they despise, For doctrines more learned and pure;-- This cutting off hands, and plucking out eyes, This doctrine they could not endure!

They speak of perfection, but oft with disdain, Our faults and our failings expose; Because this perfection they cannot attain, They'll plead for their muffs and their boas!

So lofty their eyelids, so lofty their looks, They'll laugh at a sinner in tears; Their prayers are lock'd up in their finely bound books, While they're trimming their necks and their ears!

The new birth's convulsions they cannot have felt, Or they dare not speak as they do; Their heart is too proud into nothing to melt, And must, while to mammon they bow.

Whenever their dwelling you chance to approach, Of their soft invitation beware; The pharisee's leaven, the good man's reproach, And the seat of the scorner are there!

To folks of high breeding they offer their pledge, 'Gainst others to raise a complaint; They'll skim on the surface, and trim off the edge, To pass for a dignified saint!

The God of Elijah who sees through the heart, These specious impostors will spurn, And send them in spite of their cunning and art, Where they will eternally mourn!

THERE IS A GOD!

"_The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God._" (Psalm xiv. 1)

There is a God who rules above! And man's the object of His love! And Jesus, His beloved Son, Hath bled, and died to make this known.

Though man his attributes deny, And utter daring blasphemy, He shall be conquer'd from above, By Justice, Judgment, or by Love.

Though he be lusty now, and strong, And bold in ribaldry and song, A time will come when he must flit, And to a stronger arm submit.

Then Death will disregard his groans, And time will melt his giant bones, If no contrition he shall feel, His sins will sink him into hell.

While there he drinks the bitter cup, The dust shall lick his marrow up; His tongue within the grave shall rot, While name and memory are forgot.

On that dread morn when all shall rise, The righteous whom he did despise, Shall over him dominion have, And all the terrors of the grave.

CONFIRMATION.

The stars recede, the morn appears, So long anticipated! The air which now the spirit cheers, With shouts is agitated!

The rustics full of mirth and glee, Are big with expectation, Of what they are to hear and see, When they're at Confirmation!

The road is fill'd from side to side, With bonny lads and lasses; With country bloom, and village pride, Gigs, horses, mules, and asses!

With whip and spur, they dash along, As though to fair or races; With artificial feathers hung, And veils before their faces!

But few know what they're going to do, Or they are strangely lied on; They're careless of the solemn vow, As is the steed they ride on!

They go, because their neighbours go, Without consideration; And think all pass for Christians, who Are pass'd at Confirmation!

A few there are, but few we fear, Their faith by works expressing; And oft in private on their knees, They wrestle for a blessing!

The greater part of them by far, Will carry a Cain's offering; They're strangers to the morning star, To royal David's offspring!

A hope they have, but cannot tell On what that hope is grounded;-- Thus like some old Egyptian spell, It cannot be expounded!

The carnal mind still bears the sway, For want of resolution; And scatter'd tribes, still day by day, Profane the institution!

In spite of lectures orthodox, Of Bishops, prayers, and caution, They, greedy as the thirsty ox, Drink in the deadly potion!

The scribes may write with mournful pen, The Church's lamentation; While year by year, they seek in vain, The fruits of Confirmation!

THE MAN OF THE WORLD!

From a boy much indulg'd, he grew up to a man, And had liberty almost unbounded; Nor scarce ever thought of this life's little span, With prospects of plenty surrounded!

His steed, like himself, in high spirits he views, As it snuffs at the fresh flowing fountain; On which oft at daybreak he brushes the dews, And gallops o'er valley and mountain!

His cheek round and fat, wears the hue of the rose, He seems quite a stranger to sorrow; And while on his sofa his limbs find repose, He laughs loudly, and talks of to-morrow!

"To-morrow," says he, "you must call up the hounds, As soon as the light is appearing!"-- Not thinking that Death while rambling his rounds, To his mansion a message is bearing,

"To-morrow," says he, "we'll unkennel the fox, Or in his old cabin we'll crush him; Or when we have got him away from the rocks, In spite of Old Harry we'll brush him!

And then we will dine on the lamb or the goose, Which, if he had liv'd would have fill'd him; Then o'er a full bumper we'll have a carouse, And we'll sing where he fell, and who kill'd him!"

But ah! when life's stern disappointment he meets, Like a lion imprison'd he grieves, That he who expected so much of life's sweets, So soon of its bitters receives!

Disease o'er his fortified barriers leaps, And with internal pain soon afflicts him;-- Next into his chamber the pale monster creeps, And singles him out as his victim!

Like a leaf that in autumn falls dead from the tree, Soon a train is seen weeping behind him:-- A visit I made, his improvements to see, And I look'd, but alas, could not find him!

THE RULE OF CONTRARY!

Some men have Rules so incorrect, They almost always vary; And some make Rules to gain respect, But I'm for one contrary!

Some strive to gain the smiles of men, But I prefer their frown; The torrent of my pride to stem, And keep ambition down!

The praise of men's an empty thing, And crowns and sceptres vain, To him who seeks the "living spring," As parch'd lands look for rain!

Some recommend the hearty laugh, But I prefer the tear, Which tells me that my heart is soft, My hope of heaven is clear!

Some say, "Give me the tavern song!" But I prefer the sigh, Which though unnoticed by the throng, Yet pierces to the sky!

Some say, "Give me that pleasing look, Which does the fancy win!" But give me one that's plain without, If she be fair within!

Some plead for ornamental dress, The concert and the ball; Except the Robe of Righteousness, Let me be stript of all!

Some love with dealers dark to dwell, And glory in the night; But I would shun the road to hell, Therefore I love the light!

Some love their minds with tales to feed, Of regions yet untrod;-- When I've a little time to read, Give me the Book of God!

Some praise a head of natural wit And worldly wisdom full; Without the truths of Holy Writ, Give me an empty skull!

The jet, the gold, or ivory cross, By many is admir'd; But I esteem the blood of Him, Who on the cross expir'd!

My heart with sin as crimson dyed, Would ever so remain; But if that blood by faith's applied, 'Twill cleanse from every stain!

With some their fill of pleasure here, Is all the good they crave:-- Give me a humble, holy fear, A hope beyond the grave!

At wisdom's shrine I'll light my torch, And in her pleasant ways, Under the Nazarene's reproach, I'll live out all my days!

Thus whether sanction'd or despis'd, Such is my fancy's Rule; In keeping which I shall be wise, Although accounted fool!

Let the free thinker take the hint, And with my creed agree; That all are not compell'd to think, Nor speak the same as he!

ON FINDING SOME DEISTICAL BOOKS IN THE HOUSE OF ONE WHO ONCE FEARED GOD!

"_How is the gold become dim!_" (Lamen. iv. 1.)

False publications throw their gloomy rays, Where once the Sun of Righteousness did shine; With pain we recollect the former days, While scoffing infidels their voices join!

Insulting Heav'n, they oft with brazen brow, Deny our Saviour is the Son of God! But soon to Him their every knee shall bow, And they shall groan beneath His iron rod!

What madness to defy His power above, To slight that blood which has their souls redeem'd; To him who does his God sincerely love, How painful 'tis to hear His name blasphem'd!

O let us flee these men of wicked minds, Whose glory reaches not beyond the grave; Who to accomplish their absurd designs, Dethrone our King, and style the conquest brave!

Yet still He reigns, and shall for ever hold, In massy chains the gloomy powers of Hell; They soon His second coming shall behold, And howling, see the place from whence they fell!

Ah! surely Satan's thousand years are up, And he once more is suffer'd loose to go! His object is to stagger Israel's hope, And drag them captive to his den below!

Come down, O Lord! and bid thy thunders roll! Send forth thy lightnings, and thy foes consume! O let them know that thou wilt them controul, In each, and all the shapes which they assume!

Gird on thy sword, thou mighty matchless King! Reclaim these poor deluded sons of men! O save them from the cruel serpent's sting; And drive him back to his infernal den!

If Israel's hope is not quite lost in death, May these dry bones the Word of God receive! Come from the four winds, O reviving breath, And breathe upon these slain, that they may live!

ON VISITING FRYUP, DURING A GREAT REVIVAL.

O Fryup! far distant thy fame now extends, Kind Heav'n doth thy breaches repair; Thou land of religion, and bibles, and friends, I rejoice to breathe thy pure air!

Thou land of devotion, and health to the soul, With pleasure I walk o'er thy plains; Where Christ to the sick hath oft spoken, "Be whole!" Where religion, where righteousness reigns!

With earnest desire I've long wish'd to see, The beauties which now I behold; This visit has proved more refreshing to me, Than thousands of silver, or gold!

The day spring of glory hath visited thee, For joy thy inhabitant sings; The bright Sun of Righteousness riseth on thee, And healing's receiv'd from his wings!

His influence too, I have felt in my soul, With gratitude now I confess; May all his opposers yield to his control, And sinners be saved by his grace!

As lights in a land long benighted and dark, May thy sons and thy daughters arise; While faith to a flame fans the Heav'nly spark, And they earnestly press to the skies!

May the husband incessantly plead for the wife, The wife for her husband contend; That the favour of God which is better than life, May on both through the Spirit descend!

May the lover's petition be heard for the fair, And the maiden prevail for the youth; Till all those who for righteousness never did care, Feel the force of Religion and Truth!

May thy ministers fill'd with the Spirit of God, As giants prevail o'er their foes; Their word prove more sharp than a two edged sword, In defence of their King and his laws!

May thy sinners be sav'd on every hand, Believers be steadfast and true;-- With sorrow, once more, I now quit thy fair land, Old Fryup! and bid thee adieu!

THE THREE VOICES!

_1st._ _The Voice of Conscience says_, Man! mind thyself, and all thyself; Thy inner self, thy outer self, Thy present self, thy future self, The best of self, and worst of self; Or it may chance that thou, thyself, For ever may'st upbraid thyself, For making such a fool of self, As not in time to know thyself!

_2nd._ _The Voice of the Flesh says_, O Man! do thou enjoy thyself, For why should'st thou annoy thyself, Or strangely thus employ thyself, In seeking thus to know thyself, When other men are like thyself! Beware lest thou destroy thyself! Be not a burden to thyself, While thou hast life within thyself!

_3rd._ _The Voice of the Devil says_, Fine man, think highly of thyself! Put no restraint upon thyself; Nor with religion plague thyself! For thou art not so bad as self Would sometimes make thee think thyself! To my advice submit thyself, And in thy lusts indulge thyself;-- Then I at last shall get thyself!

A DIALOGUE

Between Rosedale Bob and Hartoft John, on a Speech delivered by the Venerable The Archdeacon P----, L.L.D., at a Bible Meeting held in the new Church, Rosedale.

_John._--What cheer, awd stock? say what's ther beean te doo, 'At macks ye leeak seea dark aboot yer broo? Yoo leeak as thof yer parliament petition Had met wi' sum romantic opposition! Or mebby yoo hev met wi' sum abuse, Or fra' sum quarter heeard sum heavy news! Perhaps the trial may cum clooaser still, Yer wife or childer may be takken ill.

_Bob._--Alas! the news Ah hev te tell's seea bad, The fields an' forests seeam i' moorning clad; By men unauthorized an' unordeean'd, Oor new erected Temple is profeean'd! The cushions an' the tassels all are soil'd, The bell's enchanted, an' oor woorship's spoil'd, They've held in it, what's caus'd this desecration, A meetin' for t' Baable's circulation.

_John._--If that be all the thing's as leeght as chaff, The fields an' fleeads may clap ther hands an' laff; Sin' better sense is teeachin' greeat an' small, Te send this glorious leeght fra' pole te pole! 'Tis yan o' Jesus Christ's last greeat commands, Te send this leeght te dark an' heathen lands. Lets whooap the profit 'll ootweigh the loss;-- If t'parson beean't t'Church 'll be neea worse!

_Bob._--Whah, Ah's neea scholar, nowther will pertend Te say, hoo far this mischief may extend. Oor greeat Divine, afoore he left the pleeace, He tell'd us positive it wur the keease: Hiz argument did raise te that amoont, The Church wur ruin'd on this seeame accoont; When sike like wark the church's pillars shake, Hiz maister's honner foorc'd him for te speak.

_John._--Whether Divine, M.A., or L.L.D., 'Tis lahtle matter whea or what he be: The thing's reveal'd tiv us as clear as him, What God approves man owght nut te condemn. Whate'er may be his sacerdotal geeans, The public, they may thenk him for hiz peeans; 'At he seea fine a sample sud dispense Ov college iddicated influence.

_Bob._--Cud it be heeard an' understeead on reeght, Daft Hannah's speech be quite as full o'leeght. She thinks t'awd man sud nut ha' beean seea vext, Bud tonn'd hiz leeaf an' teean anuther text. The bad effects hez beean, she hez neea doot, Wi' brush or beezom swept an' carried oot; They teeak true pains te mack all clean an' clivver, An' t' Church is noo as gud an' weel as ivver.

_John._--Bud leeak thoo heer, this is the thing they dreead, If yance t'Baable an' the truth be spreead, The veil 'll fall fra' off the people's eyes, An' t' commons then will as the lords be wise; They then 'll graw so base i' disposition, Te heigher powers they will disdain submission; An' will te men ov honourable name, Refuse that homage which ther titles claim!

_Bob._--Then chapels will i' all directions rise, Wi' saucy steeples moonting te the skies; An' preeachers run, or ride on hoss or gig, As rank as sheep that travel Blaca rig, If sike proceedings further be alloo'd, Awd England's sun 'll set behinnd a clood:-- Nur need we wonder they alood procleeam, Thooase men sal speeak neea longer i' this neeame.

_John._--'At sike a meetin' sud be held i' t' church, By men 'at scarce wur fit te stand i' t' porch, Wur sike a stain upon its consecration, As roused his reverence's indignation. What cud thooase expect as ther reward, Bud fra' sike bold attempts te be debarr'd; Nur ivver mare mun they cum theer again, Whahl he hiz sacred office does sustain! If sike like doctrines spreead an' sud prevail, Then Bishop's ordination treead 'll fail; Then grace 'll mare than larning be admired, An' priests stand i' the market place unhired: Men will fra' ivvery secret corner creep, Or oot o' coalpits into pulpits leap; Whahl wi' ther gestures an' insinuations, They'll rob the Churches o' ther congregations.

_Bob._--Then fooaks 'll ton, like bees 'at's left the hive, Seea stupid as te nowther leead nur drive, Nur draw by gifts, nur binnd doon by oppression, Nur scar by Apostolical Succession: In vain a man may then hiz feeace disguise, An' landlords ower ther tenants tyrannize. Neea patchwark then 'll answer as afoore, Nur gowns, nur blankets buy or sell the poor. That Parson then by chance may loss hiz pleeace, Whea hunts, or gallops i' the Steeple Chase; Whea i' the ring appears a jovial fellow, Sits by his wine or grog till he is mellow; Then wi' hiz dogs pursues the grouse or game Mare than the cottage ov the poor or lame; Or if hiz gun sud chance te miss the mark Te rap an' sweear, an' lie all t'bleeam o' t' clerk.

_John._--Nur wonder thoo that venerable man, Sud be seea feearful ov hiz treead an' clan; If better leeght be spreead by land an' sea, Oor heeame boond slaves 'll seek for liberty, They'll finnd they're neean seea fit te show the way, As thooase 'at walks theerin fra' day te day. Bud God himsel has teeak the thing i' hand, An' Baable Meetings yet sal bless oor land; Oor God 'll raise up men ov noble soul, An' He the sleepy churches will controul: Will send hiz sarvants whea hiz judgements knaw, Te thunner oot the terrors ov His law; Whahl Jesus will hiz meeghty airm mack bare, An' tack the flocks himsel into hiz care.

_Bob._--Sike laws amang oor heeigh up chaps exist, As labouring men finnd hard for te resist. O't' Sabbath days they rob beeath God an' man, That scribe may preeav this statement fause as can. All hands mun haste seean as they hear the bell, To t'steeple hoose let t'priest be what he will; An' thooase 'at izzen't satisfied wi' t'kirk, Mun owther quit ther farm or loss ther woark.

_John._--Thooase laws mitch differ fra' the laws ov heaven, Fra' God te man for holy purpose given; Peace te promote an' put an end te strife, Te regulate hiz hoosehod an' hiz life. In holy days afoore the churches fell, Neea music soonded like the sabbath bell; The ministers wur thoughtful, holy men, Nur threeats wur needed, nur compulsion then.

_Bob._--Yan wad be fain sike days again te see, An' hear fooaks sing wi' love an' melody, As yan hez reead i' bukes ov holy men, 'At nowther cared for fire nur lion's den: Bud dreeaded sin wi' all its scorpion stings, Mare than the wrath ov heathen priests an' kings. All whea te God in meek submission boo, Thof t'way be dark, He'll awlus bring 'em throo.

_John._--Jist wait a whahl, till taame reverse the scene, An' Anti-Christ hez hed hiz pompous reign; When persecution wi' her torch an' foark, Sets carnal men an' ministers te woark, Te help the Beast te mack hiz proselytes, Te purge hiz fleer, an' bon the hypocrites:-- Then thooase whea live, an' hev the truth maintained, I' cleearer leeght 'll hev the thing explained.

A LOVE LETTER!

(_To Miss ----_)

Forgive a stranger who would make so free, As to declare a suitor's love for thee; And by the strength of his affection, move Thy heart to render back responsive love!

The language these few humble lines impart, Though it seem rude, is from an honest heart; From one whose only aim and object is, Thy Lover's glory, and thy future bliss.

Not for myself would I now intercede, For I, alas, no excellence can plead; My handsomest attire is homely spun, And many years my glass of life hath run!