THE ADVENT OF TRUTH.
A time there is, though far its dawn may be,
And shadows thick are brooding on the main,
When, like the sun upspringing from the sea,
Truth shall arise, with Freedom in its train;
And Light upon its forehead, as a star
Upon the brow of heaven, to shed its rays
Among all people, wheresoe'er they are,
And shower upon them calm and happy days.
As sunshine comes with healing on its wing,
After long nights of sorrow and unrest,
Solace and peace, and sympathy to bring
To the grieved spirit and unquiet breast.
No more shall then be heard the slave's deep groan,
Nor man man's inhumanity deplore,
All strife shall cease and war shall be unknown,
And the world's golden age return once more.
And nations now that, with Oppression's hand,
Are to the dust of Earth with sorrow bowed,
Shall then erect, in fearless vigour, stand,
And with recovered freedom shout aloud.
Along with Truth, Wisdom, her sister-twin,
Shall come—they two are never far apart,—
At their approach, to some lone cavern Sin
Shall cowering flee, as stricken to the heart.
Right shall then temper Justice, as 'tis meet
It should, and Justice give to Right its own;
Might shall its sword throw underneath its feet,
And Tyranny, unkinged, fall off its throne.
Then let us live in hope, and still prepare
Us and our children for the end, that they
Instruct may those who after them shall heir,
To watch and wait the coming of that day.
LINES,
SUGGESTED BY A WALK IN A GARDEN.
Balmy as the dew from its own blossoms,
And soothing as the fragrance it creates,
Comes the sweet influence of this summer eve
To my o'erchargëd heart—there is a breeze
Moving amid the foliage, soft and low,
As cradled murmur from a babe asleep.
It is a time for holy thoughts to spring,
And contemplation fill the awakened mind.
Lo! a bright sunbeam stands 'tween heaven and earth,
Taking its farewell look ere day departs,
And seeking still to light the gloom below,
As Hope,—even when the darkness comes, and Joy
Hath fled,—to cheer the heart, still lingering, smiles:
And when it goes,—ah! no, it ne'er all goes:—
The sunbeam fades, a moment, and its light,
All shed, dies still-born, swiftly shone and o'er;
But Hope, blest Hope, ev'n when it seems away,
Is near, evermore near, it cannot live
Apart, 'tis wedded to the soul for aye,—
God joined them twain, and nought can sunder them,—
Near, ever near, and ever bringing peace,
Groping among the dark things of man's spirit,
And shedding o'er the troubled mind its light,
As a stray ray of sunshine wanders 'mong
The shattered arches of a fallen ruin.
Ere sunset leaves the world, and sinks behind
The illumined ocean, let me muse awhile.
'Twas in a garden that that hideous thing,
Sin, first was born accurst, and now all through
The wide wide universe it ranges fierce.
Where man has placed his foot its trace is seen.
The serpent's slimy trail is everywhere,
Disfiguring, polluting, and destroying,
Death following in its track inseparably.
But oh! my soul be humbled, yet rejoice;—
It was, too, in a garden that the great,
The only all-sufficient, all-atoning
Propitiatory sacrifice for sin
Commenced its consummation, when the Man
Christ Jesus swat for thee great drops of blood,
(Even he, the Second Person of the Godhead,)
And prayed in agony that the cup might pass,
If so his Father willed; but none on earth
Or yet in Heaven could drink it, none save Him;
And when the sacrifice was all complete
On Calvary, and satisfied was Justice,
Mercy and Hope held out their hands to man,
And, in Christ's name, showed him redemption's way.
The shame and misery that Adam felt
In Eden's garden, when the first great sin
Was challenged, was as nothing to compare
With the deep agony which on that night,—
That dreadful night in which he was betrayed,—
Our Surety felt, when in Gethsemane
He took upon himself to pay the full
Ransom and penalty of that first sin
Which Adam sinned, and all his race in him.
Of that first sin did Adam put the blame
On Eve, "the woman whom thou gavest me."
Eve on the serpent shifted it, and proud
Was he that he had circumvented both,
Doomed on his womb to crawl in dust, and bruised
His head by woman's seed, short-lived his pride.—
Christ took upon Himself the sin and all
Its anguish, nor like Adam vainly strove
To shift it to another, knowing well
No other could redeem it but Himself.
Sinless, a sacrifice for sin, that sin
Might from the souls of men be washed away.
'Twas for that sin, and its infeftments wide
That Jesus died, that its entail cut off
Might be from Adam and his lineage, far
As generations yet to come extend,
And man restored to his lost paradise.
No flaming sword waves at its portals now,
Entrance to bar to the redeemed on earth;
No angels guard the gates to keep them shut,
But open ever are they to the elect,
And there bright angels stand, with joy
To welcome all who come in Christ's name in.
But now the sun hath bade the world good night,
And gathering darkness warns me to my home.
SONNET.
SUNSHINE.
On the old forest, bright the sunrays play,
And from the boughs hang, tinging the green leaves
With golden light that downward interweaves,
Past branch and stem finding itself a way;
And on the greensward, and among the fern,
Some trace of sunshine still we can discern,
A sunbeam's scattered droppings gone astray
Among the wild-flowers, where they nestle close
Within the long grass, or the woodland moss,
Making for Earth a dress with colours gay.
Oh! on our pathway thus may sunshine fall,
And like the little flowers, our hopes still bloom,—
A share of it at least, if not it all,—
To light the darkness and to cheer the gloom.
SONG.
AT E'ENING, WHAN THE KYE WAR IN.
At e'ening whan the kye war in,
An' lasses milking thrang,
A neebour laird cam ben the byre,
The busy maids amang.
He stood ahint the routin' kye
An' round him glowered a wee,
Then stole to whar young Peggy sat,
The milkpail at her knee.
"Sweet Peggy, lass," thus spoke the laird,
"Wilt listen to my tale?"
"Stan' out the gate, laird," Peggy cried,
"Or you will coup the pail:
"Mind, Hawkie here's a timorous beast,
An' no acquent wi you."
"Ne'er fash," quo' he, "the milking time's
The sweetest time to woo.
"Ye ken, I've aften tauld ye that
I've thretty kye and mair,
"An' ye'd be better owning them
Than sittin' milkin' there.
"My house is bein, and stocket weel
In hadden and in ha',
"An' ye've but just to sae the word
Tae leddy be o' a'."
"Wheesht, laird," quo Peggy, "dinna mak'
Yersel a fule an' me,
"I thank ye, for yer offer kind,
But sae it canna be.
"Maybe yer weel stocked house and farm,
An' thretty lowing kine,
"May win some ither lassie's heart,
They hae nae charms for mine;
"For in the kirk I hae been cried,
My troth is pledged and sworn,
"An' tae the man I like mysel',
I'll married be the morn'."
The laird, dumfoundered at her words,
Had nae mair will to try'r;
But turned, and gaed far faster out,
Than he'd come in the byre.
STANZAS
ON A BUST OF MARSHAL NEY,
Presented by the Prince De Moskwa to Donald Sinclair, Esq. Edinburgh.
There stands the hero, "bravest of the brave,"
A name well earned, that he to whom alone
Ney, second, scarce to him, in glory shone,
After a hard fought day in honour gave:
And ever shall his laurels greenly wave,—
Still flourishing with time, for time can ne'er
Blight his deserved renown not even there,—
Over his bloody and untimely grave.
Where flew the Eagle in its wide domain,
There was he ever foremost in the fight,
Leading his band of heroes, strong in might,
To conquest still,—In Switzerland and Spain,
And where the Rhine, majestic to the main,
Through many fertile lands, doth proudly flow,
His prowess won applause, even from the foe,
Midst blood and carnage on each battle plain.
High rose his genius with the tide of war,
His country's annals of his valour tell,
Impetuous as the torrent, when the swell
Of waters fierce pours onward from afar,
And sweeps before it every stop and bar:
Where'er his sword flashed, with its sunlike ray,
There victory followed closely on the way,
And danger's track was marked by many a scar.
Rednitz and Neuwied well his courage knew,
When yet his early deeds foretold the fame
That soon would throw a halo round his name;
Manheim and Hohenlinden felt it too,
And Elchingen and Jena found him true,
Eylau and Friedland, names of high renown,
Moscow and its retreat, his glory crown,
Which paled not even at bloody Waterloo!
Immortal warrior, could France reward
Thy mighty deeds but with a traitor's death?
The shame is hers, not thine; thy latest breath
Was for thy country, and as one prepared
Thou met'st thy fate, as soldier should on guard:
And still shall time, with every rolling year
The more thy memory to France endear,
And mourned thy fate shall be by patriot and bard.
Thy death has left a blot upon the fame
Of Wellington and England, ne'er to be
Removed or justified,—alas! that he,
Who with a word thy safety could proclaim,
With callous heart refused to speak the same.
The deed, like that which stained, with blackest ray,
Great Nelson's honour in Palermo's bay,
Our history records "with sorrow and with shame." [(10)]