Part 6

“Oh, I shall surely reach that place, Through matchless grace! One moment more below I linger, then I go, From this dark world of woe, Where floods of sorrow overflow, To those bright beauteous Plains, Where Glory everlasting reigns; That Land of heavenly Rest, Among the Pure and Blest, Where Jesus is—where I Shall never sin again or sigh;— In that bright world on high, There are no stains Of sin, and no remains Of sorrow, sighs, and pains; But pure and perfect happiness, And royal robes of heavenly dress, I shall eternally posses; Where holiness and peace Never to cease, But ever to increase, Abound—ah yes! this Bliss, Which I shall there possess, In all its glorious blessedness, Forever and forever reigns, “O’er all those wide extended plains.” “Oh! I must meet _you_ there, My brothers! you must share That Blessedness with me, So wonderful, so free; That mansion in the skies, Not bought with gold or price, But with the precious blood Of Christ the Lamb of God, Who died on Calvary’s bloody tree, In pain, and bitterest agony, To set us guilty sinners free, From all our sin and misery. Oh! wondrous love! that we, even we, Despised, degraded, though we be, In wretchedness and poverty, May find Redemption in His Name, That rich Inheritance to claim, With yonder blood-washed company, All robed in spotless purity, And Joy, to all eternity.” “Oh! listen to the Great Redeemer’s voice, Receive His Word, make Him your choice, Trust in His Name, and in His Love rejoice, Forsake all sin, repent and be forgiven, Then I shall meet you all again in Heaven.”

VIII.

He ceased—his word, no longer heard, Through every chord, our souls had stirred. The glistening eye, gave back reply, Then rose on high, the heart-felt cry: Lord grant that I, when called to die, May thus be blessed, from pain released, As Heavenly Guest, with Thee to feast: Oh! be Thou near, my soul to cheer, That doubt and fear may disappear, That joy and rest may fill my breast, That visions bright, of heavenly light, Like his to-night, may cheer my sight. Should quiet sleep my senses keep, And Fancy leap the pathless steep, Where, whirl the streams of airy dreams, With glittering gleams of heavenly beams,— Oh! may I in fit frame be found, To dream of “Angels hovering round,” And “leave the world without a tear, Save for the friends I hold so dear.” Or should fierce pains forbid to sleep, May I amid the anguish deep, When shuddering death-chills o’er me creep, And friends around me mourn and weep, Be buoyed above the waves’ wild sweep, Where bursting billows roar and leap; And hear the ‘whispering angels’ say “Sister Spirit, come away;” And borne on Faith and Fancy’s wing, Still hear them as they shout, and sing, “My ears with sounds seraphic ring,” My soul through all its mystic springs, Thrills like a harp’s harmonious strings, Defiance at the foe to fling; That I may shout, exult and cry: “Lend, lend your wings! I mount, I fly!” “Oh! Death, where is thy victory? Oh! Death, where is thy sting?” My faith has triumphed over thee, A conquered _captive_, not a _king_; “Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are; Here on His breast I lean my head. And breathe my life out sweetly there.”

IX.

We watch the dying man meanwhile, His face all radiant with a smile; His lips still move as if in prayer, A prayer we may not fully share; But One is near whose gracious ear, The deep, unuttered groan can hear. Nor need we doubt or judge amiss, What the heart’s inmost yearning is. The quivering lip, the tearful eye, Can well attest the earnest cry, Of the stirred soul’s deep agony; And taught of God, we join the prayer, We may not fully hear or share. Our eyes and hearts to Heaven we raise, While thus the dying Indian prays:— “God of eternal Love, Look from Thy throne above, Bow down Thy gracious ear, My dying prayer to hear; Fulfil Thy promises, Thy promises to bless The widow and the fatherless. Grant this last boon I crave! May they have bread when I am dead, And by Thy bounty still be fed When I am in my grave. Better than earthly father’s care, Oh! may they in Thy goodness share! Grant them all needed good; For soul and body, food; And may Thy mighty arm, Protect them from all harm. I leave them at Thy call, Mother and children all; Oh! let no fears appal! And let them never fear nor fall! I trust them Lord, to Thee, Thou wilt their Father be, For time and for eternity. Thy promises are sure, The needy, helpless poor, Though crushed to death and dust, May in Thy goodness trust, And rest upon Thy Word, Thou ever blessed Lord!” “Oh, bless my people! bless Them in their helplessness! Their poverty and wretchedness, Their misery and distress. Bless the whole Indian race! That they may know Thy grace! Do thou their hearts prepare, That they may freely share, Those blessings rich and rare, That from the Gospel flow,— Salvation here below, At all times trusting Thee, and go To that bright world on high, Of Glory when they die; That they may shine, In Love divine, And with Thee rest Forever blest!”

X.

Now droops his weary head Exhausted on his bed. His dying prayer has ceased; Convulsive heaves his breast; We deem him sunk to rest, Breathing his _last_ and _best_; When suddenly his eyes He opens on the skies, And startling us with surprise, He waves his hand and cries: “I see, I see the place! I see my Savior’s face! Look, children look! your eyes Raise, and look toward the skies! Bright beams of Glory Come hovering o’er me! See! see! they’re opening wide, The flaming gates of Paradise! Bright angels downward glide, And standing near my side, They smile and bid me come, To my eternal home.”

XI.

He dies, the happy Indian dies, Closes his eyes to earth, and flies Up to the region of the skies. Angelic legions lead the way, To the portals of celestial day, Wide spreads the news, all Heaven rings, Angels and ransomed spirits wave their wings, All lowly bending to the King of kings; Mingling their loftiest harmonies, Their sweetest, softest melodies, High Heaven’s eternal minstrelsies, With heart and voice and choral symphonies, Loud as the sounding of ten thousand seas! They shout him welcome to his heavenly home: “John Paul has come! John Paul has come! Bear the glad tidings far As the remotest star! Let every tongue, The shout prolong! Sound the Redeemer’s praise, In loudest, loftiest lays! Your noblest anthems raise To everlasting days, To Him who brought him To this bright abode Of perfect blessedness, And Everlasting Peace, ‘The bosom of his Father and his God!’”

XII.

Oh! Bliss Immortal! hail! all hail! All glory, honour to the Lamb who died! Now seated glorious at His Father side. Sound through the Universe his Name! His matchless Love his Fame proclaim! Till all His foes are put to shame. And let the story of the cross prevail O’er every mountain, island, hill, and dale, Of the wide world, and Satan’s power destroy,— The wondrous news thrills every heart with joy— Wafted on every breeze, by every swelling gale, Till sin and suffering, shame and sorrows fail; ’Gainst Love Omnipotent no force prevail; Till all His foes subdued shall bow the knee To Him who died on Calvary’s bloody tree, For lost and guilty men, of every race, Of every nation, station, time and place. Oh swell the joyful notes of Jubilee! The year of Grace! the year of Liberty! Burst! burst! ye prison bars! let man be free! He died for all, of every tribe and hue, Anglican, Indian, Ethiop, Greek and Jew. All, all are welcome! wide heaven’s gates expand; _There_ every name is known from every land, _There_ burst hosannas, Heaven’s loud acclaim, O’er every new-arrived, his name they name. While all the blood-washed throng, In accents loud and long, Their rapturous joy proclaim, Shouting and singing, Glory to the Lamb! All praise to Him who sits upon the Throne, Who rules the universe, the Lord alone! Jehovah, Jesus, Savior, Great I AM! To Him who bought us With His precious blood; To Him who brought us To this Bright Abode, Of perfect blessedness, And Everlasting Peace, “The Bosom of Our Father and our God!”

* * * * *

LINES

SUGGESTED ON HEARING REV. MR. RAND’S DESCRIPTION OF THE LAST HOURS OF JOHN PAUL, A CONVERTED MICMAC.

On the floor of his wigwam an Indian lay, And his spirit was rapidly passing away; On his brow stood the dewdrop of death, thick and chill, And the life-pulse once bounding was fast growing still; He spoke to his friends as they gathered around, All eager to list to the last fainting sound Of the voice that had cheered them in council or fight. Mid the fires of the wigwam or shadows of night, He told them his prospects, but oh, what were these To guide his frail bark o’er the transparent seas Whose ripple waters no storm surge ere swells, In the far distant land where the “Great Spirit” dwells. Or fearless and free through the hunting grounds roam, Where death as a visitor shall never more come? Ah, no—but the fulness and greenness of grace, The power of Jesus to save their lost race; This, this was the theme—for to him had been given A vision of glory, of God, and of Heaven! He saw the paved streets which like burnished gold shone, And highly exalted sat Christ on His throne; While the angels were circling within their bright home, And shouting triumphantly “John Paul has come!” The Indian fell back on his skin-covered bed, And soon he was one of earth’s numberless dead; But his spirit had passed to its home in the sky, To enjoy the full vision of glory on high.

Oh servant of Christ, speed thee on in thy work! Thy mission of love—and though dangers should lurk In each step of thy pathway—yet onward still move Rejoicing to know that thy God doth approve— And oh, if e’er weary or faint by the way, Thy footsteps from duty are tempted to stray, Remember one Micmac looks down from above, The fruit of thy labour, the fruit of thy love; The pledge which to thee by thy God hath been given, That the seed sown on earth shall be garnered in Heaven. * * * * *

Chatham, October, 1856.

These lines were given to me by Senator Ferguson, who thinks they must have been written by Rev. Mr. Knight, Sr., who retired from the Methodist ministry and lived in Chatham. Dr. Rand had never seen them, but the Senator remembers having repeated most of the little poem to him on the occasion of a visit from the Doctor at Tulloch.—(J. S. C.)

THE SUN-BRIGHT CLIME.

Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime, Undimmed by tears and uncursed by crime, There death hath the power no more to reign, For they live forever, and they know no pain,— Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?

There’s a city fair, ’tis the saint’s sweet home, There they ne’er shall know night’s gathering gloom, With its gates of pearl, and its streets of gold, It shines in the glory of God untold, Over there in that sun-bright clime.

A river of water gushes there Midst flowers of beauty strangely rare, And rich-plumed songsters flit through the bowers Of the tree of life on those golden shores, Over there in that sun-bright clime.

Soon the ransomed host, all robed in white, Will reach those fields of pure delight, And pluck rich-fruit from the life-tree bowers Mid a thousand hues of those fadeless flowers, Over there in that sun-bright clime.

Not far far away is that sun-bright clime, For now we are nearing the promised time When the Lord will come for his bride in white, Then we’ll bid adieu to those scenes of night, And go home to that sun-bright clime.

LATIN TRANSLATIONS.

[The following attempts at a translation of a couple of Psalms, and some of our beautiful Evangelical Hymns into Latin, will interest those who are acquainted with that noble old tongue; more especially if they are at all conversant with the Latin Hymnology and methods of versification of what are designated the _Middle Ages_.]

PSALMUS XXIII.

1. Est Jehova Pastor meus, Meus Dominus et Deus,— Ego impotens et reus— Ergo non carebo. Suam ovem stabulatque, Prata graminosa datque. Rivis placidis lavatque, Illuc ducit, propinatque; Itaque valebo.

2. Animamque reportavit Meam, saepe recreavit; Me quaesivit et servavit, Optimus Curator. Vus rectis, praeparatis, Aequitati consecratis, Ducit Deus bonitatis, Propter suum nomen gratis, Ductor et Salvator.

3. Transeam caliginosa Loca, et calamitosa, Dura, dira, luctuosa, Hostes et obstantes; Non formido aerumnosa Mala, tetra, dolorosa; Gaudens fero lacrimosa, Inter Te amantes. Confidenter ibo Tecum; Nam Tu semper eris mecum; Tua virga, tuum pedum, Ample consolantes.

4. Mensam mihi preparasque, Coram hostes, panem dasque; In clementia prope stasque: Mea pax abundat: Sanctum oleum benignum, Super caput tam indignum Meum fundis, clarum signum: Meum vast redundat.

5. Immo bonitas divina, Valetudo genuina, Cum clementia superna, Et benignitas aeterna, Semper me sequentur. Dum in vita remanebo, Dei gratia gaudebo: Ejus domum habitabo, Ejus nomen collaudabo, Et indesinenter.

PSALMUS C.

1. In Jehovam vos ovate, Et gaudete, et cantate, Omnes terram habitantes. Laeti Dominum, servite, Et cum gaudio gestite, Coram Illum triumphantes.

2. Nostrûm Deus est Creator, Dominator et Salvator, Deus unus, Auctor rerum: Fecit nos, et nos nutrivit, Regit, tutat, repetivit, Oves perditos ad Herum.

3. Ejus portas introite; Claris laudibus adite; Illum Dominum clamantes: Illum bonum, semper verum, Fidelissimumque Herum, In eternum adorantes.

“NEARER MY GOD TO THEE.”

1. Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad Te, Etiamsi crux erit quae tollat me: Canam continue— Mi Deus, prope Te; Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad Te.

2. Erroni noctu quamvis similis, Quiescam super stratum lapidis,— Delectat esse me In somnis prope Te; Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad Te.

3. Ut scalae tunc ad coelos via sit; Quaecunque mihi des, clementia fit: Sunto coelicolae; Nutantes vocent me, Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad Te.

4. Tum experrecta laude fulget mens, Petrosis malis “Bethel” extruens: Sic moeror urget me, Mi Deus, prope Te, Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad Te.

5. Si laetis pennis findens aera. Relictis stellis, petam supera— Quam jucundissime, Cantabo—Prope Te, Propius, O Deus mi, propius ad Te.

“ROCK OF AGES CLEFT FOR ME.”

Rupes Sacculorum, Te Pro me fissa, condam me! Aquae Fons et sanguinis, Duplex tui lateris, Scelerum purgatio Sit, et expiatio.

Nunquam possim exsequi, Tua lex quae mandet mi; Quamvis strenuus semper sim. Atque semper fleverim, Hoc nil expiaverit; In Te solo salus sit.

Nil in manu tulero; Tuae cruci hæreo; Vestes mihi nudo des, Inopemque subleves; Fonti foedus advolo; Nisi laves pereo.

Dum vitalem haurio vim, Cumque moribundus sim, Quum per Stellas evolem,— Ante tuum thronum stem, Rupes Saeculorum, Te, Pro me fissa, condam me.

“JESUS, REFUGE OF MY SOUL!”

O Præsidium, Jesus mi, Fugiam tuo pectori, Torrens propius æstuet, Dum procella fureret; Hoc in vitæ turbine, O Salvator, tege me! Fac ut tutus, integer, Tecum semper commorer.

Soli es Refugio: Tibi lassus hæreo: Ne relinque solum me; Sit solatium per Te. Tibi dum confisus sim, Plenas opes tulerim: Me defende, debilem, Me tutator, inopem.

Tu, O Jesu, mihi es Omnes res optabiles: Agerum, lapsum, sublevas, Opem fesso, coeco, das: Facile es sanctissimus; Ego sum perimprobus, Fœdus, plenus scelerum— Tu, bonorum omnium.

Gratia satis est in Te. Sontem perabsolvere. Fluat flumen affatim, Purus ut ex toto sim. Jesus, Fons vitalis es: Sumam quæ benigne des: Vive mi in pectore, Fons Aterna! Domine!

“ABIDE WITH ME, FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE.”

Mecum habita, Dominie! ultima labitur hora diei; Quam tenebrae condensantur! Tu mecum habitato! Deficiunt adjutores, atque omnia grata; Tu qui non spernes, inopes, O mecum habitato!

Ad metam tenuis vitae, properant rapidae horae; Blanditiae pereunt, et transit gloria mundi: Omnia mutaria, corrumpique, undique vidi; Tu qui immutatus remanes, O mecum habitato.

Te, Domine, est mihi vincere, saevos: Tu solus valeas hostes mihi vincere saevos; Tu solus firmum me, et salvum ducere possis; In tranquillo, in turbinibus, Tu, O mecum habitato.

Hostes non timeo, quum Tu stas praesto beare; Adversi casus faciles sunt absque dolore; Terrores mortis, stimuli, et, victoria, desunt; Laetatusque exsultabo, nam mecum habitabis.

Mi juvenescenti, blandus Tu nempe favisti; Ah me! quam brutus! quam perversusque remansi! Non discessisti a me, saepe ut deserui Te: O Domine, usque et ad extremum, Tu mecum habitato.

Ad oculos crucem dormitanti miei monstra: Illustra tenebras, et me erige visere coelos: En, umbrae fugiunt! et mane rubescere coepit! In vita, in morte, O Domine, O Tu mecum habitato!

“JUST AS I AM WITHOUT ONE PLEA.”

Sicuti sum—nec sine spe, Quia Tu mortuus es pro me, Et jubes ire me ad Te— O Agnus Dei, venio.

Sicuti sum—nec haesitem, Ut maculas abluerem; Mundus per tuum sanguinem, O Agnus Dei, venio.

Sictui sum—jactatus sim, Et dubitans dum conflixerim, Certansque, timens, perdo vim, O Agnus Dei, venio.

Sictui sum—miserrime Cœcus, nudusque omni re, Ut omnia capiam in Te, O Agnus Dei, venio.

Sicuti sum—recipies, Purgabis, solves, eximes; Nam credo quod promitteres: O Agnus Dei, venio.

Sictui sum—agnosco Te, Salvasse per amorem me, Ut tuus sim assidue: O Agnus Dei, venio.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected where obvious errors occur. Diary spellings have been maintained as written in all languages, including French, Greek and Latin.

Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained. Missing quotes have been added to the diary entries in order to distinguish Silas Rand’s diary entries from the author’s comments and observations.

[The end of _Rand and the Micmacs_, by Jeremiah S. Clark.]

End of Project Gutenberg's Rand and the Micmacs, by Jeremiah S. Clark