Chapter IV: Part 4

Around, the neighbours mourn their hapless lot,
And weeping children haunt the dreary spot;
The lippering wave, rais'd by the nightly gale,
Tells to the Moon her melancholy tale!

ON SOME WHO HAD LEFT US, AND SPOKEN DISRESPECTFULLY OF US!

"_There is a generation that are pure in their own eyes, and
yet is not washed from their filthiness._" (Proverbs xxx. 12.)

Yes! once they met with us, and gave us the hand,
Uniting to sing and to pray;
But long could not bear the rigid command,
So off they went lilting away!

Forsaking the vulgar, whom now they despise,
For doctrines more learned and pure;--
This cutting off hands, and plucking out eyes,
This doctrine they could not endure!

They speak of perfection, but oft with disdain,
Our faults and our failings expose;
Because this perfection they cannot attain,
They'll plead for their muffs and their boas!

So lofty their eyelids, so lofty their looks,
They'll laugh at a sinner in tears;
Their prayers are lock'd up in their finely bound books,
While they're trimming their necks and their ears!

The new birth's convulsions they cannot have felt,
Or they dare not speak as they do;
Their heart is too proud into nothing to melt,
And must, while to mammon they bow.

Whenever their dwelling you chance to approach,
Of their soft invitation beware;
The pharisee's leaven, the good man's reproach,
And the seat of the scorner are there!

To folks of high breeding they offer their pledge,
'Gainst others to raise a complaint;
They'll skim on the surface, and trim off the edge,
To pass for a dignified saint!

The God of Elijah who sees through the heart,
These specious impostors will spurn,
And send them in spite of their cunning and art,
Where they will eternally mourn!

THERE IS A GOD!

"_The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God._" (Psalm
xiv. 1)

There is a God who rules above!
And man's the object of His love!
And Jesus, His beloved Son,
Hath bled, and died to make this known.

Though man his attributes deny,
And utter daring blasphemy,
He shall be conquer'd from above,
By Justice, Judgment, or by Love.

Though he be lusty now, and strong,
And bold in ribaldry and song,
A time will come when he must flit,
And to a stronger arm submit.

Then Death will disregard his groans,
And time will melt his giant bones,
If no contrition he shall feel,
His sins will sink him into hell.

While there he drinks the bitter cup,
The dust shall lick his marrow up;
His tongue within the grave shall rot,
While name and memory are forgot.

On that dread morn when all shall rise,
The righteous whom he did despise,
Shall over him dominion have,
And all the terrors of the grave.

CONFIRMATION.

The stars recede, the morn appears,
So long anticipated!
The air which now the spirit cheers,
With shouts is agitated!

The rustics full of mirth and glee,
Are big with expectation,
Of what they are to hear and see,
When they're at Confirmation!

The road is fill'd from side to side,
With bonny lads and lasses;
With country bloom, and village pride,
Gigs, horses, mules, and asses!

With whip and spur, they dash along,
As though to fair or races;
With artificial feathers hung,
And veils before their faces!

But few know what they're going to do,
Or they are strangely lied on;
They're careless of the solemn vow,
As is the steed they ride on!

They go, because their neighbours go,
Without consideration;
And think all pass for Christians, who
Are pass'd at Confirmation!

A few there are, but few we fear,
Their faith by works expressing;
And oft in private on their knees,
They wrestle for a blessing!

The greater part of them by far,
Will carry a Cain's offering;
They're strangers to the morning star,
To royal David's offspring!

A hope they have, but cannot tell
On what that hope is grounded;--
Thus like some old Egyptian spell,
It cannot be expounded!

The carnal mind still bears the sway,
For want of resolution;
And scatter'd tribes, still day by day,
Profane the institution!

In spite of lectures orthodox,
Of Bishops, prayers, and caution,
They, greedy as the thirsty ox,
Drink in the deadly potion!

The scribes may write with mournful pen,
The Church's lamentation;
While year by year, they seek in vain,
The fruits of Confirmation!

THE MAN OF THE WORLD!

From a boy much indulg'd, he grew up to a man,
And had liberty almost unbounded;
Nor scarce ever thought of this life's little span,
With prospects of plenty surrounded!

His steed, like himself, in high spirits he views,
As it snuffs at the fresh flowing fountain;
On which oft at daybreak he brushes the dews,
And gallops o'er valley and mountain!

His cheek round and fat, wears the hue of the rose,
He seems quite a stranger to sorrow;
And while on his sofa his limbs find repose,
He laughs loudly, and talks of to-morrow!

"To-morrow," says he, "you must call up the hounds,
As soon as the light is appearing!"--
Not thinking that Death while rambling his rounds,
To his mansion a message is bearing,

"To-morrow," says he, "we'll unkennel the fox,
Or in his old cabin we'll crush him;
Or when we have got him away from the rocks,
In spite of Old Harry we'll brush him!

And then we will dine on the lamb or the goose,
Which, if he had liv'd would have fill'd him;
Then o'er a full bumper we'll have a carouse,
And we'll sing where he fell, and who kill'd him!"

But ah! when life's stern disappointment he meets,
Like a lion imprison'd he grieves,
That he who expected so much of life's sweets,
So soon of its bitters receives!

Disease o'er his fortified barriers leaps,
And with internal pain soon afflicts him;--
Next into his chamber the pale monster creeps,
And singles him out as his victim!

Like a leaf that in autumn falls dead from the tree,
Soon a train is seen weeping behind him:--
A visit I made, his improvements to see,
And I look'd, but alas, could not find him!

THE RULE OF CONTRARY!

Some men have Rules so incorrect,
They almost always vary;
And some make Rules to gain respect,
But I'm for one contrary!

Some strive to gain the smiles of men,
But I prefer their frown;
The torrent of my pride to stem,
And keep ambition down!

The praise of men's an empty thing,
And crowns and sceptres vain,
To him who seeks the "living spring,"
As parch'd lands look for rain!

Some recommend the hearty laugh,
But I prefer the tear,
Which tells me that my heart is soft,
My hope of heaven is clear!

Some say, "Give me the tavern song!"
But I prefer the sigh,
Which though unnoticed by the throng,
Yet pierces to the sky!

Some say, "Give me that pleasing look,
Which does the fancy win!"
But give me one that's plain without,
If she be fair within!

Some plead for ornamental dress,
The concert and the ball;
Except the Robe of Righteousness,
Let me be stript of all!

Some love with dealers dark to dwell,
And glory in the night;
But I would shun the road to hell,
Therefore I love the light!

Some love their minds with tales to feed,
Of regions yet untrod;--
When I've a little time to read,
Give me the Book of God!

Some praise a head of natural wit
And worldly wisdom full;
Without the truths of Holy Writ,
Give me an empty skull!

The jet, the gold, or ivory cross,
By many is admir'd;
But I esteem the blood of Him,
Who on the cross expir'd!

My heart with sin as crimson dyed,
Would ever so remain;
But if that blood by faith's applied,
'Twill cleanse from every stain!

With some their fill of pleasure here,
Is all the good they crave:--
Give me a humble, holy fear,
A hope beyond the grave!

At wisdom's shrine I'll light my torch,
And in her pleasant ways,
Under the Nazarene's reproach,
I'll live out all my days!

Thus whether sanction'd or despis'd,
Such is my fancy's Rule;
In keeping which I shall be wise,
Although accounted fool!

Let the free thinker take the hint,
And with my creed agree;
That all are not compell'd to think,
Nor speak the same as he!

ON FINDING SOME DEISTICAL BOOKS IN THE HOUSE OF ONE WHO ONCE FEARED GOD!

"_How is the gold become dim!_" (Lamen. iv. 1.)

False publications throw their gloomy rays,
Where once the Sun of Righteousness did shine;
With pain we recollect the former days,
While scoffing infidels their voices join!

Insulting Heav'n, they oft with brazen brow,
Deny our Saviour is the Son of God!
But soon to Him their every knee shall bow,
And they shall groan beneath His iron rod!

What madness to defy His power above,
To slight that blood which has their souls redeem'd;
To him who does his God sincerely love,
How painful 'tis to hear His name blasphem'd!

O let us flee these men of wicked minds,
Whose glory reaches not beyond the grave;
Who to accomplish their absurd designs,
Dethrone our King, and style the conquest brave!

Yet still He reigns, and shall for ever hold,
In massy chains the gloomy powers of Hell;
They soon His second coming shall behold,
And howling, see the place from whence they fell!

Ah! surely Satan's thousand years are up,
And he once more is suffer'd loose to go!
His object is to stagger Israel's hope,
And drag them captive to his den below!

Come down, O Lord! and bid thy thunders roll!
Send forth thy lightnings, and thy foes consume!
O let them know that thou wilt them controul,
In each, and all the shapes which they assume!

Gird on thy sword, thou mighty matchless King!
Reclaim these poor deluded sons of men!
O save them from the cruel serpent's sting;
And drive him back to his infernal den!

If Israel's hope is not quite lost in death,
May these dry bones the Word of God receive!
Come from the four winds, O reviving breath,
And breathe upon these slain, that they may live!

ON VISITING FRYUP, DURING A GREAT REVIVAL.

O Fryup! far distant thy fame now extends,
Kind Heav'n doth thy breaches repair;
Thou land of religion, and bibles, and friends,
I rejoice to breathe thy pure air!

Thou land of devotion, and health to the soul,
With pleasure I walk o'er thy plains;
Where Christ to the sick hath oft spoken, "Be whole!"
Where religion, where righteousness reigns!

With earnest desire I've long wish'd to see,
The beauties which now I behold;
This visit has proved more refreshing to me,
Than thousands of silver, or gold!

The day spring of glory hath visited thee,
For joy thy inhabitant sings;
The bright Sun of Righteousness riseth on thee,
And healing's receiv'd from his wings!

His influence too, I have felt in my soul,
With gratitude now I confess;
May all his opposers yield to his control,
And sinners be saved by his grace!

As lights in a land long benighted and dark,
May thy sons and thy daughters arise;
While faith to a flame fans the Heav'nly spark,
And they earnestly press to the skies!

May the husband incessantly plead for the wife,
The wife for her husband contend;
That the favour of God which is better than life,
May on both through the Spirit descend!

May the lover's petition be heard for the fair,
And the maiden prevail for the youth;
Till all those who for righteousness never did care,
Feel the force of Religion and Truth!

May thy ministers fill'd with the Spirit of God,
As giants prevail o'er their foes;
Their word prove more sharp than a two edged sword,
In defence of their King and his laws!

May thy sinners be sav'd on every hand,
Believers be steadfast and true;--
With sorrow, once more, I now quit thy fair land,
Old Fryup! and bid thee adieu!

THE THREE VOICES!

_1st._ _The Voice of Conscience says_,
Man! mind thyself, and all thyself;
Thy inner self, thy outer self,
Thy present self, thy future self,
The best of self, and worst of self;
Or it may chance that thou, thyself,
For ever may'st upbraid thyself,
For making such a fool of self,
As not in time to know thyself!

_2nd._ _The Voice of the Flesh says_,
O Man! do thou enjoy thyself,
For why should'st thou annoy thyself,
Or strangely thus employ thyself,
In seeking thus to know thyself,
When other men are like thyself!
Beware lest thou destroy thyself!
Be not a burden to thyself,
While thou hast life within thyself!

_3rd._ _The Voice of the Devil says_,
Fine man, think highly of thyself!
Put no restraint upon thyself;
Nor with religion plague thyself!
For thou art not so bad as self
Would sometimes make thee think thyself!
To my advice submit thyself,
And in thy lusts indulge thyself;--
Then I at last shall get thyself!

A DIALOGUE

Between Rosedale Bob and Hartoft John, on a Speech delivered by
the Venerable The Archdeacon P----, L.L.D., at a Bible Meeting
held in the new Church, Rosedale.

_John._--What cheer, awd stock? say what's ther beean te doo,
'At macks ye leeak seea dark aboot yer broo?
Yoo leeak as thof yer parliament petition
Had met wi' sum romantic opposition!
Or mebby yoo hev met wi' sum abuse,
Or fra' sum quarter heeard sum heavy news!
Perhaps the trial may cum clooaser still,
Yer wife or childer may be takken ill.

_Bob._--Alas! the news Ah hev te tell's seea bad,
The fields an' forests seeam i' moorning clad;
By men unauthorized an' unordeean'd,
Oor new erected Temple is profeean'd!
The cushions an' the tassels all are soil'd,
The bell's enchanted, an' oor woorship's spoil'd,
They've held in it, what's caus'd this desecration,
A meetin' for t' Baable's circulation.

_John._--If that be all the thing's as leeght as chaff,
The fields an' fleeads may clap ther hands an' laff;
Sin' better sense is teeachin' greeat an' small,
Te send this glorious leeght fra' pole te pole!
'Tis yan o' Jesus Christ's last greeat commands,
Te send this leeght te dark an' heathen lands.
Lets whooap the profit 'll ootweigh the loss;--
If t'parson beean't t'Church 'll be neea worse!

_Bob._--Whah, Ah's neea scholar, nowther will pertend
Te say, hoo far this mischief may extend.
Oor greeat Divine, afoore he left the pleeace,
He tell'd us positive it wur the keease:
Hiz argument did raise te that amoont,
The Church wur ruin'd on this seeame accoont;
When sike like wark the church's pillars shake,
Hiz maister's honner foorc'd him for te speak.

_John._--Whether Divine, M.A., or L.L.D.,
'Tis lahtle matter whea or what he be:
The thing's reveal'd tiv us as clear as him,
What God approves man owght nut te condemn.
Whate'er may be his sacerdotal geeans,
The public, they may thenk him for hiz peeans;
'At he seea fine a sample sud dispense
Ov college iddicated influence.

_Bob._--Cud it be heeard an' understeead on reeght,
Daft Hannah's speech be quite as full o'leeght.
She thinks t'awd man sud nut ha' beean seea vext,
Bud tonn'd hiz leeaf an' teean anuther text.
The bad effects hez beean, she hez neea doot,
Wi' brush or beezom swept an' carried oot;
They teeak true pains te mack all clean an' clivver,
An' t' Church is noo as gud an' weel as ivver.

_John._--Bud leeak thoo heer, this is the thing they dreead,
If yance t'Baable an' the truth be spreead,
The veil 'll fall fra' off the people's eyes,
An' t' commons then will as the lords be wise;
They then 'll graw so base i' disposition,
Te heigher powers they will disdain submission;
An' will te men ov honourable name,
Refuse that homage which ther titles claim!

_Bob._--Then chapels will i' all directions rise,
Wi' saucy steeples moonting te the skies;
An' preeachers run, or ride on hoss or gig,
As rank as sheep that travel Blaca rig,
If sike proceedings further be alloo'd,
Awd England's sun 'll set behinnd a clood:--
Nur need we wonder they alood procleeam,
Thooase men sal speeak neea longer i' this neeame.

_John._--'At sike a meetin' sud be held i' t' church,
By men 'at scarce wur fit te stand i' t' porch,
Wur sike a stain upon its consecration,
As roused his reverence's indignation.
What cud thooase expect as ther reward,
Bud fra' sike bold attempts te be debarr'd;
Nur ivver mare mun they cum theer again,
Whahl he hiz sacred office does sustain!
If sike like doctrines spreead an' sud prevail,
Then Bishop's ordination treead 'll fail;
Then grace 'll mare than larning be admired,
An' priests stand i' the market place unhired:
Men will fra' ivvery secret corner creep,
Or oot o' coalpits into pulpits leap;
Whahl wi' ther gestures an' insinuations,
They'll rob the Churches o' ther congregations.

_Bob._--Then fooaks 'll ton, like bees 'at's left the hive,
Seea stupid as te nowther leead nur drive,
Nur draw by gifts, nur binnd doon by oppression,
Nur scar by Apostolical Succession:
In vain a man may then hiz feeace disguise,
An' landlords ower ther tenants tyrannize.
Neea patchwark then 'll answer as afoore,
Nur gowns, nur blankets buy or sell the poor.
That Parson then by chance may loss hiz pleeace,
Whea hunts, or gallops i' the Steeple Chase;
Whea i' the ring appears a jovial fellow,
Sits by his wine or grog till he is mellow;
Then wi' hiz dogs pursues the grouse or game
Mare than the cottage ov the poor or lame;
Or if hiz gun sud chance te miss the mark
Te rap an' sweear, an' lie all t'bleeam o' t' clerk.

_John._--Nur wonder thoo that venerable man,
Sud be seea feearful ov hiz treead an' clan;
If better leeght be spreead by land an' sea,
Oor heeame boond slaves 'll seek for liberty,
They'll finnd they're neean seea fit te show the way,
As thooase 'at walks theerin fra' day te day.
Bud God himsel has teeak the thing i' hand,
An' Baable Meetings yet sal bless oor land;
Oor God 'll raise up men ov noble soul,
An' He the sleepy churches will controul:
Will send hiz sarvants whea hiz judgements knaw,
Te thunner oot the terrors ov His law;
Whahl Jesus will hiz meeghty airm mack bare,
An' tack the flocks himsel into hiz care.

_Bob._--Sike laws amang oor heeigh up chaps exist,
As labouring men finnd hard for te resist.
O't' Sabbath days they rob beeath God an' man,
That scribe may preeav this statement fause as can.
All hands mun haste seean as they hear the bell,
To t'steeple hoose let t'priest be what he will;
An' thooase 'at izzen't satisfied wi' t'kirk,
Mun owther quit ther farm or loss ther woark.

_John._--Thooase laws mitch differ fra' the laws ov heaven,
Fra' God te man for holy purpose given;
Peace te promote an' put an end te strife,
Te regulate hiz hoosehod an' hiz life.
In holy days afoore the churches fell,
Neea music soonded like the sabbath bell;
The ministers wur thoughtful, holy men,
Nur threeats wur needed, nur compulsion then.

_Bob._--Yan wad be fain sike days again te see,
An' hear fooaks sing wi' love an' melody,
As yan hez reead i' bukes ov holy men,
'At nowther cared for fire nur lion's den:
Bud dreeaded sin wi' all its scorpion stings,
Mare than the wrath ov heathen priests an' kings.
All whea te God in meek submission boo,
Thof t'way be dark, He'll awlus bring 'em throo.

_John._--Jist wait a whahl, till taame reverse the scene,
An' Anti-Christ hez hed hiz pompous reign;
When persecution wi' her torch an' foark,
Sets carnal men an' ministers te woark,
Te help the Beast te mack hiz proselytes,
Te purge hiz fleer, an' bon the hypocrites:--
Then thooase whea live, an' hev the truth maintained,
I' cleearer leeght 'll hev the thing explained.

A LOVE LETTER!

(_To Miss ----_)

Forgive a stranger who would make so free,
As to declare a suitor's love for thee;
And by the strength of his affection, move
Thy heart to render back responsive love!

The language these few humble lines impart,
Though it seem rude, is from an honest heart;
From one whose only aim and object is,
Thy Lover's glory, and thy future bliss.

Not for myself would I now intercede,
For I, alas, no excellence can plead;
My handsomest attire is homely spun,
And many years my glass of life hath run!

I plead the cause of Him, at whose command,
Thy soul shall one day in his presence stand;
And thou for ever may'st lament the change,
If once His love be turn'd into revenge!

Of all thy list of lovers finely drest,
He told me secretly He was the first;
That even in thy youthful frolics wild,
His love was on thee, from a very child!

That often he has stood without thy door,
While thou did'st other swains prefer before:
That oft the tear hath dim'd his eye so bright,
His locks all dripping with the dews of night!

He needs not thus admit of rivals, when
He is the fairest of the sons of men!
He wooes the world, and those who hear his voice,
Seldom, if ever, rue their happy choice.

He says for thee He has in battle bled,
And carried weighty sorrows in thy stead;
To save thy soul from infinite distress,
He bruis'd the monster in the wilderness!

Nay, language fails, to say by land or sea,
What perils He hath undergone for thee;
Yea, many a bitter cup, and piercing smart,
His soul hath felt to gain thy worthless heart!

Yes! He who thus demands thy stedfast love,
Is highly honour'd in the courts above;
He speaks, and sun, and moon, and stars, stand still,
And stormy winds and waves obey his will!

His tender care hath been about thy bed,
When midnight thunders rolled above thy head!
When trembling thou beheld'st the lightning's glare
Light up thy room, and cause thee sudden fear!

To all who need Him he is sure to prove
The best Physician too, when sick of love;
And yet all those who fall beneath his ire,
His anger doth consume and burn like fire!

How long wilt thou withhold from Him his right,
Or from thyself such permanent delight,
As He hath promis'd in His faithful word,
Such as the hills of Paradise afford?

When will thine eyes with happy tears o'erflow?
And thy fair breast with holy ardour glow?
When will thy lips thy dearest friend surprise,
By speaking out the language of the skies?

Who thus surrender Him their heart and mind,
Through life's vicissitudes are sure to find
"Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end,"
A faithful Lover, and a constant Friend!

Where will those flee, or what may they expect,
Who his repeated overtures reject,
Who put in other gods their daily trust,
When He shall dash their refuge into dust?

I long to see that lovely face of thine,
Beam forth with holy confidence divine;
And, fully freed from sin's enthralling chain,
No longer seek for happiness in vain!

If then thy love be wandering elsewhere,
Thy choice decide, while He doth with thee bear;
Lest thou lament thy loss with anguish keen,
When Death hath fix'd a mighty gulf between!

TRUTH TRIUMPHANT!

See yon flag of crimson dye,
Wave along the vaulted sky!
See yon flag, &c.
To its hem fair Truth is bound,
Blood of martyrs sprinkled round;
That earth's multitudes may see,
Truth will have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Wicked men in vain oppose,
Babes shall sing of Sharon's Rose!
Wicked men, &c.
Borne on winds from pole to pole,
Like the prophet's flying roll;
Ethiopia soon shall see
Truth will have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Some of earth's dark corners shine,
With this heav'nly light divine!
Some of earth's, &c.
Africa's dark sons obey,
Pagan temples own her sway;--
Own with us, 'tis God's decree,
Truth shall have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Turks! who will no mercy shew,
Mercy is proclaim'd for you!
Turks! who will, &c.
Men are ceasing to bow down,
To their gods of wood and stone;
And all nations soon shall see,
Truth will have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Where Truth reigns the work goes on,
Christ and Truth are both but one!
Where Truth, &c.
Saints shall find the promise true,
Christ will soon "make all things new;"
And rejoice at God's decree,
Truth shall have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Pow'rs of darkness! do your best,
Put your prowess to the test!
Pow'rs of darkness! &c.
Persecution fierce employ,
Jesu's kingdom to destroy,
'Tis in vain! 'tis God's decree,
Truth shall have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Jews! the Crucified adore,
Objects of his wrath no more!
Jews! the Crucified, &c.
Own the Galilean King,
With your gentile brethren sing;
Now obey, 'tis God's decree,
Truth shall have the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Hasten, Lord, the glorious day,
Let all true believers say!
Hasten, Lord, &c.
When these frozen hearts shall flow,
Each with love and wonder glow;
All with one accord agree,
Truth hath gain'd the Victory!
Victory! Victory!

Soon th' Archangel's trump shall sound,
Wake the dead from sleep profound!
Soon the, &c.
Earth shall melt, the stars shall fall,
Men on rocks and mountains call;
Christ will then his saints set free:--
What a glorious Victory!
Victory! Victory!

REFLECTIONS ON A BACKSLIDER.

How art thou fallen, thou son of the light!
How happy the scenes from which thou art driven!
Behold! if thy soul can dwell on the sight,
Where thou didst once walk and hold converse with heaven!

Then down turn thine eye to yon dreary place,
To which with swift steps thy spirit is bound;
See the hideous forms which thy spirit shall chase,
Ere long in that fire which thee will surround!

In anguish there thy frighted eyes shall roll,
While demons triumph at thy overthrow;
With flaming firebrands lash thy naked soul,
With burning arrows pierce thee through and through!

Thy dying soul still fed with living pain,
Shall curse the day on which she first drew breath;
Her awful burden she must still sustain,
And weep, and wail, and long in vain for death!

Midst hell's deep gloom her portion she must drink,
Of double vengeance from Jehovah's ire,
And in the burning lake for ever sink,--
That dreadful region of tormenting fire!

Alas! the dreadful stupor still remains,
Nor hell can fright, nor heav'nly joys allure;
In vain thy self-convicted soul complains,
Of constant torment, and of thoughts impure!

In vain the heav'nly harpers tune the lyre,
Rejoicing saints perform the three-fold part;
In vain believers flash devotion's fire,
Or drag the holy harrows o'er thy heart!

That heart enclos'd as in a case of steel,
Laments its loss, and seeks for rest in vain!
Sighs for that impulse which she once did feel,--
Oh! shall she never taste those joys again.

I know the Lord is mighty to redeem,
Of boundless mercy, and unmeasur'd grace,
But sin hath fix'd a mighty gulf between,--
Beyond that gulf a Saviour shows his face.

Sometimes thou may'st the keen conviction spurn,
Through liquor's magic, or associates gay,
But this thy strongest refuge will o'erturn,
To think of Death, and the great judgement day.

VILLAGE PREACHING.

"_Speak unto us smooth things._" (Isaiah xxx. 10.)

Far over Cleveland's lofty hills,
Water'd by rivulets and rills,
A lovely village doth appear,
And o'er the trees its chimneys rear

A church there is without a steeple,
And several unconverted people;
Though not much pious fruit appear,
The people still desire to hear.

To chapel oft they go and back,
In their old summer beaten track,
Where they the Holy Spirit grieve,
And pray for what they don't believe.

Those preachers they like best to hear,
Whose doctrine is not too severe;
Who make no push extraordinary,
But tell their tale and let them be.

It happen'd on a certain day,
A stranger chanced to stroll that way;--
I'll try to sketch him if I can,
Some call him an eccentric man.

One whom God's Spirit had enlighten'd,
Whom his own sins had soundly frightened;
Who when by strong conviction pained,
Did pardon seek, which he obtained.

He knew he then accepted stood,
By faith in the atoning blood;
But saw the people's sad condition,
And offer'd them his admonition.

A door was open in that place,
Where long had been the means of grace;
The means by many long neglected,
For fear they there should be detected.

A worthy woman there did live,
Who her advice did gratis give;
Who cared for both the flock and fold,
Like Deborah in days of old.

Like her she long had wish'd to see,
A glorious gospel victory;
And gave a friendly invitation,
To hear an extra exhortation.

The forms were set, and rostrum fix'd,
The preacher went and took his text:--
Sinners! your bleeding Saviour see,
He cries, "Ye will not come to me!"

He tried to tell what those shall win,
Who come to Christ and leave their sin;
How those shall fare in the great day,
Who all their life time stay away.

Having as he thought, clear'd his way,
They sang, and then began to pray;
He left his elevated station,
And went among his congregation,

Of the great things he'd dwelt upon,
He ask'd them questions, one by one,
And if advice or help was needing,
For penitents who then were pleading.

They still went on to sing and pray,
The good, old-fashioned gospel way;
And closer press'd the invitation,
Until 'twas time for separation.

But such unusual proceeding,
They say completely spoil'd the meeting;--
That preacher's conduct is unstable,
Who cannot keep behind the table!

Preachers ought not to come so nigh,
Into the soul's affairs to pry;
For whether they be saved or no,
Is more than they've a right to know.

Such bold presuming impudence,
To some might prove a great offence;--
Going and asking one by one,
How they for Heaven are getting on!

They say they'll come to preaching still,
If she one promise will fulfil;
That is as long as she is able,
Will keep the man behind the table.

Those hearers now are far too thin,
Who like a lusty, loud "Amen!"
And folks have now a taste so fine,
A semiquaver breaks the line!

Ye men of God, the truth enforce,
You cannot press the thing too close,
If you would do the people good,
Or clear your conscience of their blood.

When your sermon is completed,
Then your aid is further needed;
To lift up still your warning voice,
Nor leave the people to their choice.

Though some, alas, are so precise,
And God's rich blessings do despise,
Others may need your friendly care,
And will your counsel gladly hear.

If your advice when managed well,
Perchance might save some soul from Hell;
Oh think of this,--and if you're able,
You may stand still behind the table.

If I should go that way once more,
And find the people as before;
They must have either chain or cable,
If they keep _me_ behind the table.

THE LODGER IN LIVERPOOL;

OR,

THE MASON IN WINTER NIPT BY THE FROST.

While a card party were enjoying themselves in an adjoining
room.

While sad I sit, oft musing over
Happy days for ever fled;
A lonely lodger in a corner,
Like some hermit in his shed.

All around seems blithe and merry;
_My_ light's dim, and harp's unstrung,
While memory turns to yonder valley,
On whose flowery banks I've sung.

Dirty, ragged, and down-hearted,
Far from country, friends, and home;
And as far from kindness parted,
Doom'd for work the world to roam.

While the cheerful game hath flourish'd,
Gaily the glad table round;
From my eye the tear unnoticed,
Oft hath fallen to the ground.

Now they sing of female beauty,
Or the treachery of men,
Or of robbers seeking booty,
Like the tiger from his den.

Lovely forms and handsome faces,
Serve to gild the gay deceit;
Amorous ditties serve for graces,
Both before and after meat.

'Tis theirs to share life's fleeting joys,
Mine to drag the galling chain;
But still a hope my spirit buoys,
That the sun will shine again.

If their pleasures were not carnal,
I might long with them to share;
Did they lead to joys eternal,
When they laugh, I might despair.

But when time makes all surrender,
Nor permits the least excuse,
Happy they, whom time's avenger,
Charges not with its abuse.

EDOM.

(Isaiah lxiii. 1.)

O ye muses, assist me to sing,
Of the things which by faith I have seen;
Of the love of my Saviour and King,
While wandering on earth I have been.

That Him I so little have loved,
For this I have reason to mourn;
And for talents and time mis-improved,
In the days of my youth that are gone.

For neglect of the records divine,
Which so often did sound in mine ear;
My affections they did not incline,
I neglected like others to hear.

Like sheep did we all go astray,
And left the fair pastures serene;
Did wander from him far away,
Where terror and darkness were seen.

There in ambush our enemies lay,
As we roam'd o'er those desolate plains;
We became their unfortunate prey,
And were bound in affliction and chains.

We long in that sad plight did lie,
Nor had courage nor strength to look up;
Yet we oft cast a languishing eye,
To the hills from whence cometh our hope.

And there came one from Edom afar,
To whom the sad signal we gave;
He looked like a champion of war,
He was bloody--yet mighty to save!

And as swift to our rescue He came,
We related to Him all our grief,
He said that heaven heard us complain,
And 'twas He that had brought us relief.

"Who art thou?" then we fearfully said,
"Why so red in thy glorious array?
Like one who is sorely dismayed,
Through the burden and heat of the day?"

"I have come from the Father of lights,
That you in His glory may shine;
Whose throne is on high o'er all heights,
And the work of redemption is mine.

In His courts the great question was ask'd,
Who would rescue lost man from the grave?
I, my love and omnipotence task'd,
That the ruined and lost I might save!

Then stern Justice demanded his due,
And I looked for help but found none;
So my life I have laid down for you,
And have trodden the wine press alone.

"Look on me," He said with a smile,
"'Twas for you I was bruised as ye see;
There was none for this wonderful toil,
And the burden fell all upon me!"

Then He lifted us up from the ground,
And He broke our tyrannical chain;
While His blood stream'd afresh from each wound,
And whoever it touch'd was made clean!

"The ransom, though mighty, is paid,
Therefore open your hearts to receive;
You need be no longer afraid
If you truly repent and believe!"

While sweet comfort thus flow'd from his tongue,
His visage though marr'd grew more fair;
With swift wings and angelical song,
He ascended on high in the air!

A bright cloud took Him out of our sight,
And our eyes could behold him no more;
He arose to the regions of light,
And left us to believe and adore!

REFLECTIONS ON ABSENT FRIENDS, GONE TO AMERICA.

The sun had gone down o'er yon lofty mountain,
The last golden streamer had left the tall tree;
The dwelling below seemed forsaken and gloomy,
Its inmates were tossing upon the wide sea.

The rose tree was nodding the lasses had nourish'd,
Which oft had supplied them with Sunday's perfume;
The wall-flower in sorrowful modesty flourish'd,
And wept o'er the beautiful daisy in bloom!

In the track by the river the green grass is springing,
On whose flowery bank they were oft wont to stray;
No more the still grove with sweet echoes is ringing,
To the voice of the milk maid, or children at play.

The dog in the night time now howls discontented,
Of its master and mistress but lately bereft;
I listen'd and look'd to the place they frequented,
Of them not a sigh, nor a whisper is left.

How strong the emotions of friendship were glowing,
When towed by the steamer the ocean they braved;
Their force was evinced by the tears that were flowing,
As the hat, or the hand, or the handkerchief waved.

From the shores of old England we anxiously view'd them,
A cargo most precious, and dear to our sight;
Far o'er the blue surface affection pursued them,
Till the ship was conceal'd by the curtain of night.

They have left us,--their absence wakes mournful reflection,
As the fast sailing Arundel bears them away;
We can only consign them to heavenly protection,
To Him, whom the winds and the waters obey.

He who roves through the wood may quickly discover,
Their affection in tokens which there he will see;
Where with sorrowful heart each friend or each lover,
May sigh o'er their names in the bark of the tree.

THE LAST JOB OF AN OLD TRAMP;

OR,

REFLECTIONS ON BURNING A MASON'S MALLET

FOR A YULE CLOG, ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

O thou once highly valued piece of wood,
By him who best that value understood;
Whose purse so often thou didst help to fill,--
Whom bed and board,
Thou didst afford,
Attended by thy train of sharpen'd steel!

True to thy task throughout the changing year,
Thy fellowship was to thy master dear:--
Whether at work, or o'er his shoulder slung,
Or near his side,
Thou wast his pride,
While with his friend he cheerful sat and sung!

Without a murmur at stern winter's frown,
Or summer's heat, in country or in town,
The stone hath yielded to thy sturdy blow:--
Thy day is gone,
Thy task is done,
And thou art own'd by thy last master now!

While careless I thy destiny survey,
And see thee down to ashes waste away;
Thy crackling whisper seems to shew to me,
The frailty clear,
Of all things here,
To earth allied, and man's mortality!

Since first on thee the tender bud appear'd,
Or on thy branch the birds the woodlands cheer'd,
What strange vicissitudes have roll'd between;
Since thou wast nurs'd,
With care at first,
Or in the forest flourish'd gay and green!

There was a time when high thy top did wave,
In mystic triumph o'er the woodman's grave,
Whose stroke had ceas'd, worn out by course of years;
Where undismay'd
The breezes play'd,
Whose peaceful shade remembrance only bears!

Ah! thou wilt never, never bud again,
Thy ashes lost in field, or flood, or lane;
No more the sun will on thy substance shine:
It would, at last, I fear,
Be well with many here,
If life's last spark might be compared with thine!

GLOSSARY.

Aboon--_above_
Ageean--_against_
Ah--_I_
Ah'v--_I have_
Airm--_arm_
Alang--_along_
'At's--_that is_
Awd--_old_
Awn--_own_
Awlus--_always_
Ax--_ask_

Baable--_bible_
Bairn--_child_
Beck--_a brook_
Beean--_been_
Beeans--_bones_
Beean't--_be not_
Beeath--_both_
Beelds--_builds_
Berreed--_buried_
Besaads--_besides_
Blaw--_blow_
Bleead--_blood_
Boo--_bow_
Booast--_boast_
Boorn--_born_
Boon--_going_
Bon--_burn_
Bonny--_handsome_
Bowght--_bought_
Breeght--_bright_
Brigg--_bridge_
Broo--_brow_
Bukes--_books_

Cawd--_cold_
Caps--_puzzles_
Cheeans--_chains_
Childer--_children_
Chimler--_chimney_
Clim--_climb_
Clivver--_clever_
Com--_came_
Congker'd--_conquered_
Convarsion--_conversion_
Cooat--_coat_
Coorn--_corn_
Coorse--_course_
Cubburt--_cupboard_
Cum--_come_

Daft--_weak in mind_
Dee--_die_
Deea--_do_
Deeal--_dale_
Deean--_done_
Deed--_died_
Deein--_dying_
Desaun'd--_designed_
Doon--_down_
Doot--_doubt_
Draave--_drive_
Duffil--_kind of coarse cloth_

Ee--_eye_
Een--_eyes_
Efter--_after_
Ey--_aye_

Faanly--_finely_
Fain--_glad_
Fand--_found_
Fause--_false_
Feeat--_foot_
Feead--_fed_
Feight--_fight_
Finnd--_find_
Flay'd--_afraid_
Fleead--_flood_
Fleer--_floor_
Floor--_flower_
Foark--_fork_
Fooas--_foes_
Fooaks--_folks_
Fooam--_foam_
Foond--_found_
Forgeean--_forgiven_
Fower--_four_
Fra'--_from_
Freeat--_fret_
Frev--_from_
Froon'd--_frowned_
Fund--_found_

Gaain--_going_
Gamlin--_gambling_
Gang--_to go_
Gangin--_going_
Gat--_got_
Geean--_gone_
Geean'd--_gained_
Geen--_given_
Gie--_give_
Ginnes--_guineas_
Gitten--_got_
Gooan--_gone_
Graw--_grow_
Greeatin--_groaning_
Greeave--_grave_

Hawf--_half_
Heeame--_home_
Heearth--_earth_
Heeigh--_high_
Hennut--_have not_
Hev--_have_
Hez--_has_
Hezzen't--_has not_
Hods--_holds_
Hoo--_how_
Hoor--_hour_
Hooivver--_however_
Hoose--_house_
Hoosin--_household_
Hoss--_horse_

Iddicated--_educated_
I' noo--_soon_
I' t'--_in the_
Iv--_in_
Ivvery--_every_

Keease--_case_
Ken--_to see_
Kesenmas--_christmas_
Kest--_cast_
Kirk--_church_
Knaw--_know_
Ky--_cows_

Lahtle--_little_
Lee--_a lie_
Leeak--_look_
Leeatly--_lately_
Leeght--_light_
Lie--_to lay_
Lig--_to lie_
Lood--_loud_
Loore--_learning_
Loss--_lose_

Mack--_make_
Mah--_my_
Mahle--_mile_
Mare--_more_
Maund--_mind_
Mebby--_may be_
Meead--_made_
Meeasons--_masons_
Meeght--_might_
Meer--_a mare_
Misteean--_mistaken_
Mitch--_much_
Mooan't--_must not_
Mooat--_mote_
Moont--_mount_
Moorning--_mourning_
Mud--_might_
Mun--_must_

Natches--_notches_
Neea--_no_
Neean--_none_
Neegh--_nigh_
Neeght--_night_
Neen--_nine_
Nivver--_never_
Nobbut--_only_
Nooas--_noes_
Nooatice--_notice_
Nooation--_idea_
Nowght--_nothing_
Nowther--_neither_
Nowthern--_northern_
Nut--_not_

Ommost--_almost_
Onny--_any_
Oor--_our_
O' t'--_of the_
Ower--_over_
Owerton--_overturn_
Owght--_ought, or aught_
Owther--_either_

Pearted--_parted_
Pertend--_pretend_
Pleeace--_place_
Pleugh--_plough_
Plissures--_pleasures_
Poosts--_posts_
Praaze--_praise, or prize_
Preear--_prayer_
Preeav--_prove_
Prisance--_presence_
Prooan--_prone_
Prooase--_prose_
Prood--_proud_

Raise--_rise_
Rath--_wrath_
Reeace--_race_
Reeght--_right_
Reen--_reign_
Rint--_rent_
Rowlin--_rolling_
Rum--_room_

Saain'd--_signed_
Sal--_shall_
Sare--_sore_
Sarten--_certain_
Sawn--_sown_
Screeve--_mark_
Seea--_so_
Seeaf--_safe_
Seean--_soon_
Seeaven--_seven_
Seeght--_sight_
Seer--_sure_
Shanks--_legs_
Shaw--_show_
Sheeape--_shape_
Shoat--_short_
Shoo--_show_
Shoothers--_shoulders_
Sike--_such_
Sin'--_since_
Skoors--_scores_
Snaw--_snow_
Soorce--_source_
Sowl--_soul_
Spak--_spoke_
Steead--_stood_
Steeaks--_stakes_
Steean--_stone_
Strang--_strong_
Strave--_strive_
Stond--_stand_
Stour--_drift_
Sud--_should_
Sum--_some_
Sute--_suit_
Swap--_exchange_

Taame--_time_
Tack--_take_
Teea an' fraw--_to and fro_
Teeables--_tables_
Teeak--_took_
Teeal--_tale_
Teean--_taken_
Tegither--_together_
Te t'--_to the_
Thah--_thy_
Thee--_thy_
Theer--_there_
Thenk--_thank_
Ther--_their_
Thof--_though_
Thowght--_thought_
Thraving--_thriving_
Thruff--_through_
Thunner--_thunder_
Tiv--_to_
Ton--_turn_
Toons--_towns_
Towght--_taught_
Treead--_trade_
Trimmel'd--_trembled_
Trist--_trust_
'Twad--_it would_
Twea--_two_

Ungker'd--_strange_

Voo--_vow_

Wad--_would_
Waddn't--_would not_
Wark--_work_
Warst--_worst_
Wean't--_will not_
Weeap--_weep_
Weel--_well_
Wesh--_wash_
Wha--_who_
Whahl--_while_
Wheas--_who is, or whose_
Whooap--_hope_
Whoor--_where_
Winder--_window_
Winnut--_will not_
Wiv--_with_
Woak--_walk_
Woark--_work_
Wods--_words_
Wor--_were_
Woth--_worth_
Wrang--_wrong_
Wur--_our_
Wur--_was_

Yack--_oak_
Yah--_one_
Yan--_one_
Yance--_once_
Yer--_your_

INDEX.

Page.

Preface, 5

Awd Isaac, Part First, 9

---- Part Second, 25

---- His dying advice, 30

Dialogue on a Steeple Chase, 35

The Lucky Dream, 44

A strange effusion, 46

Lealholm Bridge, 48

Old Sam, or the effects of the Gospel, 51

Thoughts on Good Friday, 55

To a withered flower, 57

The country Love Feast, 59

Ode to Britain, 62

A voice from the dead, 63

To the Moor birds in a storm, 66

Lines on returning a borrowed Stick, 67

The thunder storm, 68

The Miser's away, 69

The Mistake, 71

The broken seal, 72

The Stone!, 75

To the rising Sun, 82

Lines in memory of the Rev. D. Duck, 84

An elegy on the death of a beloved child, 85

On the first text heard spiritually, 88

To a Squirrel in a cage, 90

To a bird singing in winter, 92

Petch's Elegy, 93

Reflections on Petch's tomb, 95

"Who hath believed our report?", 97

The Bees, 100

Caution from Limber Hill, 101

The village church in ruins, 103

Poetical reflections, 105

The two hours' task, 110

The country blunder, 113

A sinner saved by grace, 115

The portion of the Just, 117

The happy choice, 118

On the death of John Morley, 119

The servant's address to his master, 122

Sabbath morning musings, 125

Lines on leaving Fryup, 129

The Swallow, 131

A call to the careless, 132

To a horse, dying alone!, 134

Musings during affliction, 137

The Play, 144

The remote Christian, 146

Solitary reflections, 149

On some who had left us, 150

There is a God, 152

Confirmation, 153

The man of the world, 155

The rule of contrary, 157

On finding some Deistical books, in the
house of one who once feared God, 160

On visiting Fryup, 162

The Three Voices, 164

Dialogue between Rosedale Bob, and Hartoft John, 165

A love letter, 170

Truth triumphant, 173

Reflections on a Backslider, 176

Village preaching, 178

The lodger in Liverpool, 182

Edom, 184

Reflections on absent Friends, 187

Last Job of an old Tramp, 189

Glossary, 191

_Whitby: Printed by Horne and Richardson._

TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES

Page 23: Unnecessary opening " as in original
Page 27: .! at end of verse as in original
Page 34: Closing " has no associated opening " in the original
Page 46: Opening " has no associated closing " in the original
Page 54: " added before We all must
Page 59: mispent as in the original
Page 70: expence as in the original
Page 148: bles'd as in the original
Page 174: Powr's corrected to Pow'rs (second instance)
Page 175: &c, corrected to &c. in the last verse
Page 186: Unnecessary opening " as in original
Page 190: flourish,d corrected to flourish'd
Page 195: sowl corrected to soul

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