THE Mountain Prophet-His Hut in the Moss-His Morning
Hymn-His Bride-His Daughter-Their sudden Death-
His Sorrow-His Hope-Prosperity—Adversity—His Sub-
mission-The War-field-The Glory-seeker-His Mistake—
His Wife-Her Watching-His Return-Death-Burial-The
Village Yeoman-His Walk across the Moors-Apostrophe to
Spring-Thoughts on Life's Journey-Return at Evening-
The Postman's Knock-The Strange Letter-The Sudden
Disaster-The Prophet's Love of Morning-His Prayer-The
pious Peasant.
DAY dawn'd along the heather; from his hut
Among the mosses, where he lived alone,-
Except his dog and goat and favourite bird,-
With flowing beard and forehead high and broad,
And eyes that flash'd with an unearthly fire,
Clad in a garment streaming to his feet,
The Mountain Prophet came while the sweet flowers
Drank on the down their cups of morning dew,
Sitting among the willows wet with tears,
He raised his eyes and sang his matin hymn.
"Good, gracious Being, throned in endless space, And stooping down to such a mite as man! Accept the morning psalm I offer Thee.
I hear Thy voice flow through the gates of morn;
I see Thy hand in every folded bud;
I trace Thy wonders in the meanest worn;
I feel Thy goodness in the fanning air;
I read Thy bounty in the drops of dew.
Great is Thy name, and marvellous Thy power:
Thou art the same to-day and evermore.
Men change, and creeds evanish; but Thy love
Unfailing stretches through eternity;
And though sometimes to ever-erring man,
Stumbling along the stony path of life,
Thou wrapp'st Thyself in awful mystery,
The grand design is his eternal peace.
How beautiful the summer of my life,
And the young bride Thou gavest me! Then there came
The image of her mother, and my harp
Was ever strung to notes of thankfulness;
The earth was Eden, Eden were the skies.
Thou saw'st these were my idols: so in love
The fever came and bore them both away.
How bow'd my soul beneath this winter-cloud!
No light broke in from the eternal Sun.
I shiver'd like a lost man mid the ice,
And groped about, not knowing where I went.
Then rose my soul in prayer, O God, to Thee,
And pour'd out all its sorrows: balm came down,
And gleams of glory glow'd through all my frame;
And closer walk'd I with the Blessed One,—
Lived less on earth, and mingled more with heaven.
"Years pass'd; rich mercies throng'd my temporal path; I walk'd the earth in sunshine: lands increased,
And gold and silver Thou didst pour on me.
The love of lucre chill'd my love for Christ :
My heart had grown too worldly then a scythe
Was sent by Thee to cut those brittle cords.
A storm arose and rent the watery wave,
And down went ships and costly merchandise;
My cattle perish'd in the blighted fields ;
And sickness, like a strong arm from Thyself,
Pull'd me upon the borders of the pit;
And when I woke, like dreamer in strange land,
I found myself a poor man in my hut,
Alone within this shaggy wilderness.
O blessed God, I thank Thee for it all!
This way alone would lead me to Thyself:
My own mark'd path would issue in despair.
Here in these moorlands much I learn of Thee,
And riper grow for the white fields above.
All praise, all glory to Thy mighty name!
Among the dews of morn I shout for joy,
And with the birds now trembling into song
My hallelujahs float into Thine ear.
Glory to God! glory and praise to God!
Honour and might and majesty be Thine,
Power and dominion, now and evermore ! "
And then he changed his theme and changed the key,
As starting on his feet he seem'd to hear
A marvellous echo from the land of lays.
"The cruel war had ended; from the field
The shooters had retreated, and the sword
Of the fierce soldier rested in its sheath.
The dead in heaps were roll'd into a pit,
And buried in their armour.
The wounded had been carried; some in sheds,
And some in barns, and some in hospitals,
Were panting for dear life. Legless were some,
And some were eyeless, moaning in the dark;
Some were bereft of hands, and some of feet;
And some had splinters driven into the brain;
And some with more than half their faces gone,
And some whose ribs were shatter'd, groaning loud,
And some with bullets pressing near the heart,
And some with scalps half-blown into the air,
And some with broken arms and rooted joints:
And others roll'd in fearful agonies
With teeth hacked out and shoulders hewn away
Gashed in the battle with a hundred blades.
thine eyes, and look upon yon hill: Blood stains the blushing heather. Here, last night,
Huge armies met in combat, and a name
Was won, and writ in characters of gore.
Here lies a headless hero, there the head
Split like a shell in halves; yonder a steed,
And under it its rider black in death.
Pinn'd to a battery with quick-broken blades,
A hapless gunner dangles stiff as steel.
Here a grey veteran, grasping hard his spear,
Lies dead beside a youth cropp'd in his teens.
A father and his son, toss'd side by side,
With stony eyeballs stare into the skies.
Here shreds of armour, there a heap of heads
And here a hand, beside a crimson rill,
That strangely grasps a shatter'd bayonet.
And here are legs in wild confusion hurl'd
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