GRAHAME'S POETICAL WORKS.
Description of a Sabbath morning in the country-The labourer at home-The town mechanic's morning walk; his meditation-The sound of bellsCrowd proceeding to church-Interval before the service begins-English service-Scriptures read-The organ, with the voices of the people-The sound borne to the sick man's couch-His wish-The worship of God in the solitude of the woods-The shepherd-boy among the hills-People seen on the heights returning from church-Contrast of the present times with those immediately preceding the Revolution-The persecution of the Covenanters A Sabbath conventicle― Cameron - Renwick-PsalmsNight conventicles during storms—A funeral according to the rites of the Church of England-A female character-The suicide-ExpostulationThe incurable of an hospital--A prison scene-Debtors-Divine service in the prison-hall-Persons under sentence of death-Appeal on the indiscriminate severity of criminal law-Comparative mildness of the Jewish law -The year of jubilee-Description of the commencement of the jubilee-The sound of the trumpets through the land-The bondman and his family returning from their servitude to take possession of their inheritanceEmigrants in the wilds of America-Their Sabbath worship-The whole inhabitants of Highland districts who have emigrated together, still regret their country-Even the blind man regrets the objects with which he had been conversant-An emigrant's contrast between the tropical climates and Scotland-The boy who had been born on the voyage-Description of a person on a desert island; his Sabbath; his release-Missionary ship-The Pacific Ocean-Defence of missionaries-Effects of the conversion of the primitive Christians-Transition to the slave-trade-The Sabbath in a slave-ship Appeal to England on the subject of her encouragement to this horrible complication of crimes-Transition to war-Unfortunate issue of the late war, in France, in Switzerland-Apostrophe to Tell-The attempt to resist too late-The treacherous foes already in possession of the passes; their devastating progress-Desolation-Address to ScotlandHappiness of seclusion from the world-Description of a Sabbath evening
in Scotland-Psalmody-An aged man-Description of an industrious female reduced to poverty by old age and disease-Disinterested virtuous conduct to be found chiefly in the lower walks of life-Test of charity in the opulent-Recommendation to the rich to devote a portion of the Sabbath to the duty of visiting the sick-Invocation to health; to musicThe Beguine nuns-Lazarus-The Resurrection-Dawnings of faith; its progress; consummation.
How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glitt'ring in the dewy wreath.
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze:
Sounds the most faint attract the ear-the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,
The distant bleating, midway up the hill.
Calmness seems throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk glen ;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings Peace o'er yon village broods :
The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din
Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large;
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls,
His iron-arm'd hoofs gleam in the morning-ray.
But chiefly Man the day of rest enjoys ;-
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day :
On other days, the man of toil is doom'd
To eat his joyless bread, lonely, the ground
Both seat and board, screen'd from the winter's cold
And summer's heat by neighbouring hedge or tree;
But on this day, embosom'd in his home,
He shares the frugal meal with those he loves;
With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy
Of giving thanks to God-not thanks of form,
A word and a grimace, but rev'rently,
With cover'd face and upward, earnest eye.
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day:
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning-air pure from the city's smoke,
While, wandering slowly up the river-side,
He meditates on Him whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around the roots; and while he thus surveys
With elevated joy each rural charm,
He hopes (yet fears presumption in the hope)
To reach those realms where Sabbath never ends.
But now his steps a welcome sound recalls: Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile, Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe :
Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground:
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind
Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes
With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well-pleased;
These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach
The house of God: these, spite of all their ills,
A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise
They enter in; a placid stillness reigns,
Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Opens the book, and reverentially
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues:
The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes,
Then swells into a diapason full:
The people rising, sing, 'With harp, with harp,
And voice of psalms;' harmoniously attuned
The various voices blend; the long-drawn aisles,
At every close, the lingering strain prolong.
And now the tubes a soften'd stop controls,
In softer harmony the people join,
While liquid whispers from yon orphan band
Recall the soul from adoration's trance,
And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.
Again the organ-peal, loud rolling, meets
The halleluiahs of the choir: sublime
A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
As if the whole were one, suspended high
In air, soaring heavenward: afar they float,
Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch:
Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still his heart is cheer'd;
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise—
Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow;
My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day
My steps should thither turn; or, wand'ring far
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless His name who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets,
Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye.'
It is not only in the sacred fane
That homage should be paid to the Most High;
There is a temple, one not made with hands,
The vaulted firmament: far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air;
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray;
Where not a floweret bends its little stalk,
Save when the bee alights upon the bloom;
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath-noon;
Silence his praise: his disembodied thoughts,
Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend
Beyond the empyreal.—
Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy!
In some lone glen, where every sound is lull'd
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretch'd on the sward, he reads of Jesse's Son;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,
And wonders why he weeps: the volume closed,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof,
Where humble lore is learn'd, where humble worth 120
Pines unrewarded by a thankless State.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen,
The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps,
Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer.
In peace they home resort. Oh blissful days!
When all men worship God as conscience wills.
Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew,
A virtuous race, to godliness devote.
What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil
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