Volume Vi Part 31 (1/2)
THE MEETING PLACE.
Where the faded flower shall freshen, Freshen never more to fade; Where the shaded sky shall brighten, Brighten never more to shade: Where the sun-blaze never scorches, Where the star-beams cease to chill; Where no tempest stirs the echoes Of the wood, or wave, or hill: Where the morn shall wake in gladness, And the noon the joy prolong, Where the daylight dies in fragrance, 'Mid the burst of holy song: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!
Where no shadow shall bewilder, Where life's vain parade is o'er, Where the sleep of sin is broken, And the dreamer dreams no more; Where the bond is never sever'd, Partings, claspings, sob and moan, Midnight waking, twilight weeping, Heavy noontide, all are done: Where the child has found its mother, Where the mother finds the child, Where dear families are gather'd That were scatter'd on the wild: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!
Where the hidden wound is healed, Where the blighted life re-blooms, Where the smitten heart the freshness Of its buoyant youth resumes; Where the love that here we lavish On the withering leaves of time, Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on In an ever spring-bright clime: Where we find the joy of loving, As we never loved before, Loving on, unchill'd, unhinder'd, Loving once and evermore: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!
Where a blasted world shall brighten Underneath a bluer sphere, And a softer, gentler suns.h.i.+ne, Shed its healing splendour here; Where earth's barren vales shall blossom, Putting on their robe of green, And a purer, fairer Eden, Be where only wastes have been: Where a king in kingly glory, Such as earth has never known, Shall a.s.sume the righteous sceptre, Claim and wear the holy crown: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!
TRUST NOT THESE SEAS AGAIN.
Trust not these seas again, Though smooth and fair; Trust not these waves again, s.h.i.+pwreck is there.
Trust not these stars again, Though bright and fair; Trust not these skies again, Tempest is there.
Trust not that breeze again, Gentle and fair; Trust not these clouds again, Lightning is there.
Trust not that isle again, Flower-crown'd and fair; Trust not its rocks again, Earthquake is there.
Trust not these flowers again, Fragrant and fair; Trust not that rose again, Blighting is there.
Trust not that earth again, Verdant and fair; Trust not its fields again, Winter is there.
Trust not these hopes again, Sunny and fair; Trust not that smile again, Peril is there.
Trust not this world again, Smiling and fair; Trust not its sweets again, Wormwood is there;
Trust not its love again, Sparkling and fair; Trust not its joy again, Sorrow is there.
JOHN HALLIDAY.
A song-writer of merit, John Halliday was born on the 18th July 1821, at Hawicks.h.i.+elsgate, near Hawick, Roxburghs.h.i.+re. His father was an agricultural labourer; and, with an ordinary education at school, he was, at an early age, engaged as an a.s.sistant shepherd to a tenant farmer in his native district. Inheriting from his mother a taste for the elder Scottish ballad, he devoted his leisure hours to reading such sc.r.a.ps of songs as he could manage to procure. In his thirteenth year he essayed to compose verses, and at the age of twenty became a contributor of poetical stanzas to the provincial journals. Encouraged by a numerous list of subscribers, he published, in 1847, ”The Rustic Bard,” a duodecimo volume of poems and songs. After being several years resident at Hopekirk, Roxburghs.h.i.+re, he removed in 1854 to Bridge of Allan, where he is well employed as a florist and landscape gardener.
THE AULD KIRK BELL.
In a howm, by a burn, where the brown birks grow, And the green ferns nod when the wild winds blow, Stands the roofless kirk in the auld kirkyard, Where the gowans earliest gem the swaird; And the gray, gray moss on ilk cauld through stane Shrouds in oblivion the lang, lang gane-- Where the ance warm heart is a cauld, cauld clod, And the beauteous and brave give a green to the sod-- On a time-worn tower, where the dim owls dwell, Tuneless and torn, hangs the auld kirk bell.
On the auld kirk floor is the damp night dew, Where warm words flow'd in a wors.h.i.+p true; Is the sugh o' the breeze, and the hum o' the bee As it wings and sings in its taintless glee Through the nettles tall to the thistles red, Where they roughly wave o'er each deep, dark bed; And it plies its task on the wa'-flowers tall, Which bloom in the choir and wave on the wall; Then, soaring away with a sweep and a swell, It covers its combs in the auld kirk bell.