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POETRY.

187

PEDEN AT THE GRAVE OF CAMERON.

(From Flowers of Zion.*)

"Cameron's body was thrown into a hole in Airmoss, and there a simple tombstone marks his grave. To this spot did Peden, one of Cameron's dearest friends, repair. Harrassed and vexed with personal sufferings, he sat down by the grave, and, meekly raising his eyes to heaven, prayed-'O to be wi' Ritchie!"" A SOUND of conflict in the moss! but that hath passed away, And through a stormy noon and eve the dead unburied lay; But when the sun a second time his fitful splendours gave, One slant ray rested, like a hope, on Cameron's new-made grave. There had been watchers in the night! strange watchers, gaunt and grim,

And wearily, with faint, lean hands, they toiled a grave for him;
But ere they laid the headless limbs unto their mangled rest,
As orphan'd children sat they down, and wept upon his breast!
Oh! dreary, dreary, was the lot of Scotland's true ones then-
A famine-stricken remnant, wearing scarce the guise of men;
They burrowed few and lonely,'mid the chill dark mountain caves,
For those who once had sheltered them were in their martyr-graves.
A sword had RESTED on the land!-it did not pass away; [day!
Long had they watched and waited, but there dawned no brighter
And many had gone back from them who owned the truth of old :
Because of much iniquity their love was waxen cold!

There came a worn and weary man to Cameron's place of rest;
He cast him down upon the sod-he smote upon his breast--
He wept, as only strong men weep, when weep they must or die,
And "O to be wi' thee, Ritchie !" was still his bitter cry.

"My brother! O my brother! thou hast past before thy time,
And thy blood it cries for vengeance, from this purple land of crime;
Who now shall break the bread of life unto the faithful band?-
Who now upraise the standard that is shattered in thine hand?

* The plaintive, yet impassioned, eloquence of this lament, says more in favor of the elegant little volume from which it is extracted, than any criticism of ours would do. We sincerely hope that the fire-side "Flowers of Zion " may be welcomed to every home with the same grateful eagerness as their lovely prototypes in nature are to every heart.

"Alas! alas! for Scotland! the once beloved of heaven!

The crown is fallen from her head, her holy garment riven;
The ashes of her covenant are scattered far and near, [not hear!
And the voice speaks loud in judgment which in love she would
"Alas! alas! for Scotland! for her mighty ones are gone ;
Thou, brother, thou art taken –I am left almost alone; [lost-
And my heart is faint within me, and my strength is dried and
A feeble and an aged man alone against a host!

"O pleasant was it, Ritchie, when we two could counsel take, And strengthen one another to be valiant for His sake ;

Now seems it as the sap were dried from the old blasted tree, And the homeless and the friendless would fain lie down with

thee!"

It was an hour of weakness, as the old man bowed his head,
And a bitter anguish rent him as he communed with the dead!
It was an hour of conflict, and he groaned beneath the rod,
But the burthen rolled from off him as he communed with his God!

"My Father! O my Father! shall I pray the Tishbite's prayer,
And weary in the wilderness whilst THOU wouldst keep me there?
And shall I fear the coward fear, of standing all alone,
To testify for Zion's King, and the glory of His throne?

"O Jesus! blessed Jesus! I am poor, and frail and weak ;
Let me not utter of mine own, for idle words I speak!

But give me grace to wrestle now, and prompt my faltering tongue,
And breathe thy name into my soul, and so I shall be strong!

"I bless thee for the quiet rest thy servant taketh now :
I bless thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow ;
For every weary step he trod in faithful following thee,
And for the good fight foughten well, and closed right valiantly!
"I bless thee for the hidden ones who yet uphold thy name,
Who yet for Zion's King and Crown shall dare the death of shame!
I bless the for the light that dawns even now upon my soul,
And brightens all the narrow way with the glory from the goal;
"The hour and power of darkness, it is fleeting fast away—
Light shall arise on Scotland – a glorious gospel day!
Woe, woe to the opposers!-they shall shrivel in His hand;
Thy King shall yet return to thee, thou covenanted land!

"I see a time of respite-but the people will not bow; I see a time of judgment—even a darker time than now! Then, Lord, uphold thy faithful ones, as now thou dost uphold, And feed them, as thou still hast fed thy chosen flock of old. "The glory! O the glory! it is bursting on my sight! Lord! thy poor vessel is too frail for all this blinding light! Now let thy good word be fulfilled, and let thy kingdom come, And, Lord, even in thine own best time, take thy poor servant home!"

Upon the wild and lone Airmoss down sank the twilight greyIn storm and cloud the evening closed upon that cheerless day; But Peden went his way refreshed, for peace and joy were given, And Cameron's grave had proved to him the very gate of heaven!

THE MOTTO OF THE ECCLESIOLOGIST.

"Surge igit' & fac: & erit d'ns tecu'." (i. Paralip: xxii. d.)
"UP and be doing! and thy God will be"
So say these tadpole-romanists, "with thee!"
Do all thou canst to put His Son to shame,
And make the gospel but a form and name;
Exalt the means, and desecrate THE END,
Up and do this-and will God be thy friend?

Shame on thee, formalist! Thy God demands
No vain oblation* at his creature's hands,
No gilded rites to make His glories known,
No righteousness to supplement His own,
No stole, nor alb, nor surplice, to impart
The shew of worship to a godless heart,
No shrill-lipped choristers, whose voices tell
The spirit is unfruitful, whilst they swell,
No glittering symbols, no imposing rite,
No frauds that ask a "dim religious light"-
His name is Truth-His temple every where,
His chosen home, the heart attuned to prayer.

"Arise!" for thou hast work indeed to do,
If thou would'st mould the gospel, thus, anew!
And may thy god-the god of bricks and stone-
Be with thee, since thou fear'st to work alone!

* Isa. i. 13.

Go, tell the world how thou hast found at last,
A way to heaven unknown in ages past-
How sacraments, and rites, and jewelled plate,
And copes, and chasubles roll back its gate
So widely, that, of those who enter in,
Each may bear with him his most darling sin,
Nor other passport need to reach his rest,
If by his lawful "priest" baptized, and blest!

Go, raise the heav'n-insulting spire, and there
Plant the grim gurgoyles, grinning high in air;
Shape all upon the “sacramental” plan,
Let the dim chancel be of proper span,
Remove its "crazy table formed of wood,"
And place the ponderous altar where it stood;
Then cross thyself, and perfect there, once more,
The Work "for ever perfected,*” before!

Be doing, then! but tempt not thus His wrath,
Who makes the whirlwind his tremendous path;
Lest thou should'st find, as from a gorgeous dream
Awaking, He has cursed each cherished scheme,
And written, as its images† depart —

"He serves me best, who gives me all his heart.”

THE WATERS OF BITTERNESS.

[On Capt. Sturt and his companions first reaching the river Darling, and finding it salt-see Sturt's Expeditions in Southern Australia.]

THEY knew, (how well!) the Desert's burning thirst,
Wandering by many a stream, now parch'd and dry,
Where once the cool and living waters burst:
Oh! with what phrenzied eagerness the eye
Is stretched, in farthest distance to descry
Some sign of good, to watch the thirsty bird,
Where the blue-gums' long line, th' horizon bound.
When-O! the sudden voice of life is heard!
The long-desired, the eager-sought, is found!

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A noble river bursts upon their sight!

Forward they rush, wild with the vast delight-
And now they touch the waters, sparkling bright;
-O world! world! world! this river pictures thee,
For all is bitter brine-a draught of mockery.

THE RESOLVE OF YOUTH.
OH, the joyous days of youth!
When the world looks fair and bright;
For the stern, dark clouds of truth,
Have not dimmed the spirit's light;
And the brilliant future seems
Gayer than our wildest dreams.

Then the friends our hearts engage,
Are beloved with true devotion,
For the frigid rules of age

Have not chilled each kind emotion,
And the feelings warm and just,
Are yet strangers to distrust.

Must this gentle season glide,
Like the summer hours away;
-Youth in all its blooming pride,
Vanish, as the sun's last ray
Hides its pure, ethereal light,
In the deepening shades of night?
Age may stamp the Christian's brow,
With its deeply-furrowed line,
But the heaven-taught spirit's glow,
Shall experience no decline;

Verdant as the dew-gemmed flowers,
Mental youth shall still be our's.

Feelings, beautiful and fresh,

Shall invigorate the mind,
And perennial loveliness
Mark emotions so refined;
While affection's fervid flow

Shall no diminution know.

E. L. A.

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