“When in muirland and valley the standard of Zion,
All bloody and torn, ’mong the heather was lying.”
...When Charles strove to put in shackles the Scottish mind, and quench in the Scottish heart that love for the pure and simple truth for which the best and noblest have died. About these times and these men they were never weary of reading and speaking.
“There will never more be such times in Scotland,” said Archie, as Lilias shut the history, and took down the Bible and psalm-books for their evening worship.
“Thank God, no!” said his aunt, hastily; “though one might think, from your face, that it is no matter of thankfulness to you.”
“I don’t wish those times to come back,” said the boy musingly; “but I wish I had lived then. It must have been worth a man’s while to live in those days.”
“And why is it not as much worth a man’s while to live in the days that are to come as in the days that are past?” asked his aunt, with a smile.
Archie looked up quickly.
“I know what you are thinking, aunt:—that a poor cripple lad could have done as little then as he can do now.” And Archie sighed.
“No: I was thinking that it needs as much courage and patience, and as much of God’s grace, for a poor cripple lad to bear (as He would have him bear) the trouble He sends, as would have stood a man in good stead before the face of Claverhouse himself. The heroes of history are not always the greatest heroes, after all, Archie, my laddie.”
“Maybe not, aunt; but, then, it’s only a sore leg I have to bear; and who is the better whether I bear it well or ill?”