LXXVIII.
On one of these occasions they became
Acquainted with a youth to bed confined.
From early childhood he was always lame,
And for a year or two had been quite blind.
His manners were most gentle, and his mind
With human knowledge seemed to be well stored.
Now these dear people made enquiry kind,
If he had in affliction sought the Lord,
Or ever gained true comfort from his Sacred Word.
LXXIX.
To them at first he no reply would give,
Yet seemed absorbed in thought, and heaved a sigh.
At last he said, "I always aimed to live
So that I need not fear when brought to die.
I feel at present that my end is nigh
And should not care ev'n now, if I were dead.
Upon my blameless life I can rely,
Nor look for harm to fall on guiltless head.
A purer life than mine no mortal ever led."
LXXX.
"My dear young friend," the Pastor sweetly said,
"Did your own conscience never whisper you
That hope like this to ruin always led?
If not, let me now tell you it is true!
For none may hope the face of God to view
In peace unless their sins are washed away
By Jesus' blood. Our dearest Savior flew
On wings of Mercy man's worst foes to slay,
And open wide the gates, to everlasting day!"
LXXXI.
He asked him then if he might read aloud
A portion of God's Word, and offer prayer.
The youth consented, feeling much less proud
Than when these Christians first had entered there.
GOODWORTH three chapters read with greatest care,
Three which at length dwell on the sinner's state,
And then by plainest speech made him aware
How he might best escape a sin-cursed fate,
Be reconciled to God, and coming Glory wait.
[Footnote: The 3d, 4th, and 5th chapters of Romans]
LXXXII.
The poor blind lad had never heard before
The wonders which those chapters do reveal,
Self-righteousness he ne'er could think of more,
For sense of guilt he now began to feel.
This roused up fears he could not well conceal,
And made him anxious those two friends should pray.
The Pastor made to him one more appeal,
Then supplicated God without delay
That Grace might be shed forth to lead him in the way.
LXXXIII.
Now bitter tears flow from those sightless orbs,
As light breaks in upon his darker soul,
Prospect of death his wretched thoughts absorbs,
And makes him wish that he could back recall,
Those early years which did so fleetly roll,
Before he lost his health and precious sight;
For no dread visions then did him appal,
Nor was he wont to tremble from affright.
Oh, that he had but sought Salvation with his might!
LXXXIV.
Our two friends told him plain 'twas not too late;
Such burdened souls the Savior had invited,
However black their crimes, however great
Their mad rebellion; even if they had slighted
This Means of Grace—without which man is benighted—
He bids them come to him and find sweet rest.
Those who have thus obeyed have been delighted
With his light yoke, and often have expressed
Their sense of such great goodness, feeling truly blest.
LXXXV.
This good instruction had the best effect,
And as he seemed composed the friends prepare
To start for home, nor in the least suspect
How quick the time had fled whilst they were there.
They bade "good night" and left him in the care
Of their Kind Father, who had bid them go;
And in their journey through the woods they share
Sweet converse and true joy in constant flow,
And reach their neat log house Content afresh to know.
LXXXVI.
The sons and daughters greeted their return
With pleasant smiles, then with respect enquired
What led to their detention, and now burn
To know the cause they look so sad and tired.
The parents, nothing both, gave as desired
A brief account how they had been employed;
And this once more full confidence inspired
While each the truly pleasing thought enjoyed,
That one soul less would be by Satan's power destroyed.
LXXXVII.
Around the family Altar next they meet
To worship God by reading, prayer and praise,
Which all ascend like richest incense sweet
Before the throne of Him who guides their ways.
Surely bright Angels might delight to gaze
Upon this happy family at such time,
And feel those Christians fit to join in lays
That they are wont to sing in heavenly clime;
In rapturous devotion to their King sublime.
LXXXVIII.
If e'er a glimpse of heaven is had below,
If there is aught of Bliss upon this Earth,
A family like this it best can show,
For they need not the worldling's boisterous mirth;
And yet of social feeling there's no dearth.
Each does enjoy true peace and happiness,
Which, rightly valued, in their turn give birth
To noble deeds designed mankind to bless,
To strengthen what is right, and what is wrong redress.
LXXXIX.
I would not undervalue Church connection,
For 'tis of God's appointment, and should show
True Christian principles in much perfection,
And be the sweetest bond of all below.
But oh, it happens, I too truly know,
There is mixed with it so much worldliness,
So man members to vile Mammon bow,
That my poor soul is filled with sore distress,
And scarce dare hope the Lord will such connection bless.
XC.
Under these circumstances I with others
Await most anxiously that day's appearing,
When Jesus Christ will with his chosen brothers
Dwell in sweet fellowship and love endearing.
The hope of this should always be most cheering
To every Christian of each state and name;
And make them patient hear with the rude jeering
Of those who love to glory in their shame;
Who for their soul's perdition are alone to blame.
XCI.
This hope was dear indeed to GOODWORTH'S heart,
And made him feel a very strong desire
Right Knowledge on all subjects to impart,
And use but proper means true zeal to fire.
He wished not that his hearers should admire
His humble teaching, but the truths he taught,
And tried to show them how they could acquire
The power to judge all subjects which were brought
Before their minds, as they with good or ill were fraught.
XCII.
Under such teaching this small Church became
An humble, cheerful, happy, loving Band.
While they by industry their wild lands tame,
They did not oft neglect to lend a hand
To him who thus on Scripture took his stand.
Their conduct and profession both agree,
And every instance of God's goodness fanned
Love's flame, and made it burn more steadily;
For which they praised the Lord with great sincerity.
XCIII.
Amongst their number there was poor McKan,
Weakly in body but yet firm in mind.
His means were small when he at first began
To clear as wild a bush farm as you'll find.
The neighbors round had all to him been kind,
Feeling much pity for his family;
For he, though toiling hard, had run behind
In payment for his lot and soon might be
With those dependant on him brought to misery.
XCIV.
While certain ruin stared him in the face,
He felt he'd rather die than beg from friends;
And so prepared to sacrifice his place—
Persuaded that the Lord would make amends.
The Pastor hears his case and straight attends
Upon him at his house with wish to know
The full particulars, and gladly lends
An ear attentive to his tale of woe;
How the stern creditor would no more mercy show.
XCV.
His case was not a solitary one.
Too many find when they have toiled for years,
That sweet Hope leaves them when their strength is gone;
Which fills their future with alarming fears,
And nothing for them but despair appears!
O, why is this? Have they imprudent been?
Or has great sickness sunk them in arrears?
Perhaps it may be these; and yet I ween
Another cause of trouble may be clearly seen.
XCVI.
That cause is this: Our Government thought fit
To sell their land at far too high a rate,
And those who bought thought they could pay for it
Within the time, which would be something great.
If common-sense had chanced to bid them wait,
They mostly had an answer close at hand:
"Men whom they knew had bettered much their state
By buying on long time that wild bush land,
Ami now as able farmers 'mongst their fellows stand."
XCVII.
By pinching work they raise the first installment
For lot on which the claim pre-emption right,
And from that time they find complete enthralment,
As with Adversity they constant fight.
Where's now the prospect which was once so bright?
"Not quite all gone," may some poor settler say.
But health is broken, and no more delight
Fills their parental hearts from day to day,
While each succeeding month adds something more to pay,
XCVIII.
Until at last the time allowed has fled.
More time is granted, but alas, in vain!
With aches and pains they now are nearly dead.
Such help as they require they can't obtain;
And yet perhaps of fortune they complain,
Or blame the friends whose "luck" led them out there.
But from such course 'tis better to refrain;
For, had they been still servants, with due care
They might have bought good farms and had some cash to spare.
XCIX.
Just so it was with that poor Christian brother,
And this at once the Pastor clearly saw;
Yet had no wish in haste to judge another,
But felt inclined pure Charity to show.
Then, having learned all he now wished to know,
Home he returned and sought his Father's ear.
From his full heart strong supplications flow,
Which cease not till he sees his duty clear,
And gains fresh help from God his brethren's hearts to cheer.
C.
He next the matter told to his dear wife,
For she was wise and often could suggest
What was most useful in affairs of life,
Which made her counsel be in much request.
Her mind to him she freely then expressed,
And mentioned what she heard the day before—
How brother Luth, who was of friends the best,
Would take the farm and willingly give more
Than would the Creditor, if they the land restore.
CI.
GOODWORTH heard this, then spoke to Luth alone—
Told him quite plainly how the matter stood,
Yet not in harsh, authoritative tone,
But meekly, as more likely to do good.
By this he showed regard for brotherhood,
And led Luth candidly to speak his mind.
Then, as both felt in very kindly mood,
They deemed it best to try McKan to find
And let him know what they in Christian love designed.
CII.
They found him soon and Luth made his proposal,
Which filled the humble family with delight.
The whole affair appeared as the disposal
Of their kind God, who always acted right.
Most thankful were they that in His pure sight
They found such favor in their hour of need.
That brother's kindness they could ne'er requite;
His was a noble—a most generous deed,
Which could alone from love at any time proceed.
CIII.
Luth took the place, and for improvements paid
Beside what to the Creditor was due;
"And if the family chose, they might," he said,
"Remain his tenants for a year or two,
And daily labor he would take in lieu
Of money payments for a moderate rent."
This plan aroused their gratitude anew,
While with the bargain all appeared content,
And deemed the time employed most profitably spent.
CIV.
The two on their return called in to see
The sick blind youth, who now was sinking fast.
He was no longer in despondency,
Though he of late had through great suffering passed.
On the Atonement all his hopes were cast,
And now enjoyed a happy frame of mind.
The work of Jesus did appear so vast,
He could not doubt but it had been designed
By Him whose name is Love, to save poor lost mankind.
CV.
The parents had beheld the change thus wrought
By Gospel Truth in their afflicted boy,
And called to mind how often they had thought
Religion was invented to destroy
Whatever mortals have of peace and joy.
"But now," they said, "we think it something worth.
For our son's happiness has no alloy,
Although about to leave the joys of Earth,
And all those pleasant things which used to yield him mirth."
CVI.
The Pastor now gave each an exhortation,
And kind friend Luth engaged awhile in prayer,
Which met, at present, no disapprobation.
Much death bed comfort does the sick one share,
But soon his eyes assume a brighter glare,
The rattle in his throat bespeaks death near.
Anon they raise the dying youth with care,
Whose smiling face shows plain he has no fear,
For Jesus in the valley does his servant cheer.
CVII.
A strong, brief struggle, and now all is o'er!
No more the heart will in his bosom beat.
His soul triumphant gains Heaven's peaceful shore,
And raptured stands to view each scene so sweet;
Then joins the thousands tasting Bliss complete,
In all the Hallelujahs which they raise
Unto the Lamb of God, while at His feet
They cast their crowns and ever wondering gaze
On Him who sits enthroned as worthy of all praise.
CVIII.
Our friends strove now to cheer the drooping hearts
Of that lone couple in their deep distress;
For they knew well each promise which imparts
To mourners hope and heartfelt happiness.
These on their minds they forcibly impress;
And their kind efforts are not used in vain,
For the bereaved ones readily confess
That faith in Jesus brought substantial gain
To their dear boy who now is free from grief and pain.
CIX.
The neighbors, apprehending such event,
Drop silent in and heartily engage
With solemn mien and truly kind intent,
The old folks' ardent sorrow to assuage.
Some one prepares the needful shroud to wage,
While others wash and lay the body out,
And in soft tones make observations sage,
The truth of which none are inclined to doubt,
For all at such a time seem serious and devout.
CX.
Meanwhile the Pastor and his friend take leave,
And reach their homes before 'tis very late.
The news they take their families receive
As fresh inducement on their God to wait,
And ever watch by Wisdom's sacred gate.
Two days elapse and bring the Sabbath round,
And settlers join the humble funeral state,
Which reaches soon the new-made burial ground,
Where all list to the service with respect profound.
CXI.
Those simple, mournful rites do much impress
The minds of all assembling on this day;
And now the Preacher lays the greatest stress
On danger consequent upon delay
In matters of Salvation, when the Way
To Everlasting Life, himself stands ready
To welcome those who make His blood then stay,
However weak their faith, howe'er unsteady
Their trembling souls become when tossed in Life's rough eddy.
CXII.
The text [Footnote: The three last verses of Matthew XI.] was one
that wonderfully stated
The sinner groaning under loads of guilt,
And mourning souls have found weak faith recreated,
As on its consolations they have built
Their stable hopes, against which Hell full tilt
Has often run, determined to prevail—
And might have done if Jesus, who has spilt
His precious blood for them, had chanced to fail.
But that can never be, whatever foes assail.
CXIII.
Has any mortal skill to estimate
The solid good that such a text has done?
Ah, no! the task's so wonderfully great,
By finite man it need not be begun.
Fit for the work, of Angels there is none.
God can alone the glorious secret tell,
Or mark the value of the mighty boon
To all the souls whom it hath saved from hell,
And landed safe in Glory, ever there to dwell?
CXIV.
And at this time the mourners dried their tears,
As the Departed's state they realize.
Raised were their hopes, abated were their fears,
On each new view of Christ's great Sacrifice.
Now might be seen joy beaming in their eyes,
As they learned acquiescence in God's will.
Most precious promises the word supplies,
To cheer their hearts and every murmur still,
While they together walk adown Life's slippery hill.
CXV.
Others, who long had boon companions been
Of that young man in his most joyous days,
With tearful eyes are in that Chapel seen,
And seem desirous to amend their ways.
They never had before beheld Truth's blaze,
But, like too many, boasted of their state,
Not dreaming that their light was lost in haze
Of stupid ignorance and folly great;
God grant such may repent before it is too late.
CXVI.
'Tis thus the Lord oft makes most lasting good
To flow from what we mortals view as ill;
And we pass through each strange vicissitude
To find that peace again our souls can fill;
While Mercy's shed, not like a trickling rill,
But in full streams, with never ceasing flow—
Softening our hearts obdurate, and our will
Conforming unto God's; until we know
It was all needful to keep us from sin and woe.
CXVII.
We now will pass from sad to lively scenes,
And bask awhile in July's warmth and smiles;
For settlers,' homes can furnish ample means
To have a Picnic 'mongst the beauteous isles
Bestudding Huron's face for many miles.
Why should not those, who live on such wild farms,
Enjoy a pleasant pastime, which beguiles
The jaded mind: affording many charms
To those who wish to flee from anti-social harms?
CXVIII.
The subject some weeks previous had been broached,
And this enabled farmers to have care
Lest the event on needful work encroached—
A thing of which they all should be aware;
As they, through Summer, have scarce time to spare
For needful recreation in this way.
Now, by contrivance, they enjoy a share
Of sweet delight, on this auspicious day:
When several families make for a most pleasant Bay.
CXIX.
Fine was the day, and settlers' boats were ready
To bear their precious cargoes from the shore.
The Pastor's presence kept the young folks steady,
Though blandest smiles the happy party wore.
Strong, manly arms plied well each sturdy oar,
To make the boats fly swift o'er sparkling waves.
These seemed quite conscious of the freight they bore,
And kissed the water which their trim forms laved;
While all enjoyed a scene that ne'er the heart depraved.
CXX.
And thus they reach a lovely Isle, tree-clad—
At no great distance from their starting place—
From whose high front most splendid views are had
Of other isles, all clothed in Summer's grace.
With rapture they now gaze on Nature's face;
See trees bedecked in brightest green attire,
Which look well pleased with July's warm embrace—
Their forms view in the Lake, and much admire
Their fine proportions; and more stateliness acquire.
CXXI.
For camping-ground they had not long to look;
A sheltered place, from underbrush quite free,
Was known to all as a most charming nook,
Where they might rest and eat in privacy.
On choice of this they every one agree;
Then place the baskets-laden with good things—
And now their voices, in sweet melody,
Present pure praises to the King of Kings:
A truly pleasant service that much blessing brings.
CXXII.
Young GOODWORTH'S then good poetry recited;
"Hymn to Mont Blanc," and GRAVES' sweet "Elegy;"
While MILTON'S lofty strains each one delighted,
And COWPER'S sketches-full of harmony.
CAMPBELL and WORDSWORTH yield variety,
And BURNS his quota furnished with the rest.
WILSON'S good Dramas, too, were deemed to be,
By all the company, among the best:
And I would find no fault with what was then expressed.
CXXIII.
For lengthening out the pleasure thus obtained,
The Pastor undertook to criticise
Those pieces heard, and what was dark explained.
Next, needful illustration he supplies,
Or shows defects not seen by common eyes.
Comparing the best with sacred poetry,
He unfolds beauties in the Prophecies
Of great Isaiah, and quite readily
Paints in most glowing terms the Psalmist's minstrelsy!
CXXIV.
Then speaks of Jeremiah's plaintive strain—
The "Weeping Prophet" and true Patriot,
Who often wept for Zion, and felt pain
For her great sins; who, when God's wrath waxed hot
Against his country, ne'er her weal forgot,
But prayed and wrestled with the Lord of Hosts,
If, peradventure, he her crimes would blot
From out his Book; and yet he never boasts
Of love to country, as some do who seek high posts.
CXXV.
The book of Job—great in poetic lore—
He dwells upon, till wonder and delight
Seize all his hearers; most of whom before
Had not enjoyed a very clear insight
Into that Book, which tells of God's great might,
His wisdom, goodness and forbearance long
With his poor servant, brought to saddest plight
Through Satan's eagerness to drive him wrong;
When he poured forth his woes in deep impassioned song.
CXXVI.
Next glanced at Moses' song on Red Sea shore—
When Pharaoh and his mighty host were drowned—
In which the Tribes most gratefully adore
Their great Deliverer, who on Egypt frowned.
No mortal uninspired could e'er have found
Such fitting language for that great event,
Those strains sublime, with glorious grandeur crowned,
Came forth from heaven, and back were thither sent
As worship to the Lord, from hearts, on praise intent.
CXXVII.
'Twas now full time that they should all partake
Of the refreshment thither brought with care.
While thirst was quenched with water from the lake,
They each with each their choicest viands share.
But ere they eat of that most ample fate,
Due thanks are given in a proper song.
Such happy lot with any can compare,
So none need marvel if they tarried long,
For everything conspired to make Love's bonds quite strong.
CXXVIII.
The dinner o'er the older ones retired
To give the Island a complete survey.
In doing this they very much admired
Sweet scenes thus visited on that fine day.
The younger part had no desire to stray,
So they remained in that nice shady nook,
And joined together in a harmless play,
Or read awhile in some delightful book,
And thus of purest pleasure old and young partook.
CXXIX.
The sun, quite fast into the West descending,
Now warned them all it was full time to go
To their dear homes, where sweetest comforts blending,
Gave no just cause neglect of them to show.
But yet their hearts, with gratitude aglow,
Prompt them once more to join in praise each voice
And now the Pastor sought from them to know
If they of proper hymn have made their choice,
As he had one composed, and truly would rejoice
CXXX.
If his attempt to speak the mind of all
For this day's pleasure and substantial joy
Should meet, with approbation and recall
The hours so sweetly spent without alloy.
He spoke of this to them with manners coy,
Like one not used to boast what he had done.
"Perhaps," he said, "They might their time employ
To more advantage if he ne'er begun
To give to them the Song which he in haste had spun."
PASTOR'S SONG ON LEAVING THE ISLAND.
Soon Sol will sink into the West
And Luna shed her silvery beams;
Each songster seeks its wild-wood nest
To spend the night in love's sweet dreams.
And we, dear friends, prepare to leave
This Isle and each delightful scene,
And feel we have no cause to grieve
That we upon its shores have been.
For all, throughout this lovely day,
Have had much pleasure free from pain.
Then let us, ere we go away,
Lift up our hearts in praise again.
"O Thou who from thy bounteous hand
Dost give thy children all they need,
Behold us now—a loving band,
And all our boats in safety speed
"To yonder bay; then guide us home.
Accept our thanks for mercies great
We have enjoyed beneath thy dome,
In humble, yet contented state."
Farewell, sweet Isle; may thy fair scenes
Ne'er witness orgies, vile, profane;
For this man's character demeans,
And never yields him solid gain.
CXXXI.
With this short song they all were satisfied,
And soon agreed that it forthwith be sung.
In strong, warm feelyngs then each singer vied,
And some gave proof they had no lack of lung.
To Duke Street tune were their fine voices strung,
And thus verses went off charmingly,
While through the distant woods their loud notes rung.
The party now, with great alacrity
Regain the boats, and push into that deep, blue sea.
CXXXII.
And what a beauteous scene was there presented
To their admiring gaze on that fine lake.
'Twas such that they could all have been contented
To stay forever; but a something spake
And bid them hasten, as life was at stake!
This may seem, strange, but they with dread behold
Heaven's face grow black, while mighty winds awake.
And now 'tis well that men both strong and bold
Have charge of those frail boats well filled with young and old.
CXXXIII.
In this their trouble they look up to God,
Who bids the angry elements be still;
And thus suspends o'er them his chastening Rod,
While deepest gratitude their bosoms fill,
Inspiring them afresh to do His will.
It nerves each heart and arm to ply the oar
With ceaseless efforts; working hard until
In safety every boat has reached the shore.
When the curbed storm at last does all its vengeance pour.
CXXXIV.
The rain comes down in torrents, and the flash
Of vivid lightning penetrates the gloom!
Loud roars the mighty thunder, and the dash
Of angry waves upon the ear doth boom!
The friends, escaped as from a watery tomb,
All stand together 'neath o'erhanging rock.
Somewhat appalled and rather pinched for room,
They list in silence each tremendous shock;
Yet Christ, their Shepherd, watches o'er his feeble flock.
CXXXV.
The storm subsides, and they not much the worse,
Cheered by the bright moon beams haste on their way.
God's special mercies warmly they rehearse,
Which yields fresh comfort, as so well it may.
Upon the whole they had a pleasant day,
And ere each separate party leaves the track,
The Pastor says, "Dear friends, now let us pray."
All gave consent, and forth there rose no lack
Of earnest prayer to Him who safely brought them back.
CXXXVI.
Now while they separate and thence pursue
The several paths that lead them to their farms,
I seize occasion to bid warm adieu
To my poor Muse, who lent to me her charms
In my adventurous flight; and free from harms
Will live in hope the subject to resume
As leisure serves me and the topic warms
My height and fancy, which may truth illume,
That what I have to sing may live beyond the tomb.