Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest.
Mrs. Augustus W. Cutler has kindly given us the following monograph:
"In a Memorial of the late Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest occurs the following passage: 'For two hundred and fifty years, the English readers of the Bible were obliged to content themselves with the phrase, 'They seek a country'. It was not the whole thought. It was reserved for a corps of learned revisers to light upon the happy phrase, 'They are seeking a country of their own'.' But a score of years before the wise grammarians reached this line, a youthful poetess, seeing and greeting the Heavenly promise from afar, wrote simply and sweetly:
"'I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see The shining gates o' Heaven, an' my ain countree'.
"This youthful poetess was Mary Lee, afterwards Mrs. T. F. C. Demarest.
"Before her marriage, in 1870, she spent several years in Morristown and became identified with the place and its interests; and there are many persons living here who remember her sweet face and gentle ways.
"A taste for the Scotch dialect is said to have been acquired from an old Scotch nurse who lived a long time in the family, when the children were young. The girl caught it so completely, that when deeply moved, she was wont to drop into it, for the more vigorous expression of her feelings. 'Somehow', said she, 'the Scotch is more homely, less formal to me'. Thus, in the poem alluded to, could the thoughts contained in it, have been expressed as beautifully and tenderly in the mother tongue?
"Again, there is a little poem in the same dialect, entitled 'My Mither', which appeals to every heart.
"Though many of her poems and prose writings are of a devotional character, yet she had a keen sense also of the humorous side of life as the verses entitled 'Allen Graeme', will testify.
"Mrs. Demarest traveled extensively throughout our own country, and also abroad. Two volumes of her writings have been published—one entitled 'Gathered Writings', a collection of short stories, fragments of foreign travel and reflections".
MY AIN COUNTREE.
I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary afterwhiles,
For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles;
I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see,
The shining gates o' heaven an' my ain countree.
The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony tinted fresh and gay,
The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae;
But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me,
When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree.
I've His gude word o' promise that some gladsome day, the King
To his ain royal palace His banished hame will bring;
Wi' een an' wi' hearts running owre, we shall see
The King in His beauty, in our ain countree;
My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,
But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair;
His bluid has made me white—His hand shall dry mine e'e,
When he brings me hame at last, to mine ain countree.
Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place,
I ainly ken its Hame, whaur we shall see His face;
It wud surely be eneuch forever mair to be
In the glory o' His presence in our ain countree.
Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
I wad fain be ganging noo, unto my Saviour's breast,
For he gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An' carries them Himsel', to His ain countree.
He's faithfu' that has promised, He'll surely come again,
He'll keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;
But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be
To gang at ony moment to my ain countree.
So I'm watching aye, and singing o' my hame as I wait,
For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate,
God gie His grace to ilk ane wha' listens noo to me,
That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree.