Bidh àgh a's sonas anns gach àit',
'S am prìosanach gheibh saors' o 'chàs;
'S an neach 'tha sgìth o 'shaothair fois,
A's mic na h-airc o 'n eallach goirt.
Far an nochd e 'chumhachd mòr,
Cha 'n fhuilgear bàs no cràdh ni's mò ;
'S d'a thrìd-san gheibhear tuilleadh àigh
N'a chaill sinn trìd easumhlachd Adhaimh.
Gach creutair éireadh 's thugadh uaith'
Umhlachd 's buidheachas do'n Uan;
'S le'n òrain thigeadh aingle 'nuas
'So'n chruinneadh éireadh iolach suas.
AN SLANUIGHEAR.
Air sgàth cleachduinn lùb mo ghlùn;
Ach mais' no àill' cha 'n fhac a'd' gnùis,
A chum mo chridhe 'thoirt duit dlùth,
Mo Shlànuighear,
Air bhall-chrith, 's mi fo thrioblaid gheur,
Shaoil mi gu'n deanainn féin mo réit'—
Do t'fhuil cha d' ghabh mi suim no spéis,
Ged mhothaich mi gach oidhirp baoth
Cho fhad 'sa thug mi'n pheacadh gaol,
Gidheadh mo chridhe riut cha d' aom,
Mheas mi cruaidh gach ni a dh'iarr,
Bha 'toirmeasg imeachd réir mo mhiann,
'S mo thlachd-sa cha robh ann a d' riar,
Ach thusa ris an d' chuir mi cùl,
Le t'fhuil gu'n d' shaor thu m'anam brùit',
'S do Dhia gu'n d' tharruing thu mi dlùth.
Mo Shlànuighear.
O ghabhadh, trioblaid, a's o theinn,
Gu'n d' shaor thu mi le d' ghàirdean treun,
A's dionaidh tu mi o gach beud,
Mo Shlànuighear.
And when the voyage of life is o'er,
I hope to gain the heavenly shore,
And never grieve thy goodness more,
THE SONG OF MOSES.
EXODUS, xv. 1.–21.
The horse and the rider are thrown in the sea,
And Israel, escaped from her bondage, is free;
Jehovah has conquer'd-to him we will raise
The song that bursts forth from our hearts in His praise.
The arm of our God was our safety alone,
That arm has the hosts that pursued us o'erthrown ;
The God of our fathers has fought on our side,
And Pharaoh, struck down in the pomp of his pride.
His chariots and horsemen o'erwhelmed by the waves,
Have sunk in the deep ocean's fathomless graves!
Thy hand, O Jehovah, is glorious in fight,
And none can resist its omnipotent might!
The foe that rose up in his pride against Thee
Thou has scatter'd, and drown'd in the depths of the sea: As stubble dispers'd by the wind, so the breath
Of Thy wrath in a moment hath swept them to death.
The monarch himself, his chief captains and hosts,
Lie entomb'd in the Red Sea that washes their coasts:
The blast of Thy power divided the flood,
And the billows, ascending on either side, stood.
Exulting in triumph the enemy cried,
"I will follow-o'ertake-all the spoil will divide : My lust in their ruin shall riot its fill;
The sword I unsheathe-the slaves I will kill!"
The breath of Thy spirit blew strong on the waves,
They cover'd that host in their fathomless graves;
Like lead they sank down in the depth of the sea,
And Israel, redeem'd from her bondage, is free.
O Jehovah, our God, who with Thee can compare,
'Midst the gods of the earth, or the gods of the air?
Whose glory, or greatness is equal to Thine?
Whose deeds are so glorious, whose power so divine?
Thou stretch'd out Thy hand from the gloom of the cloud-
The earth deep engulph'd them-the sea was their shroud:
'S mo thuras 'n uair a thig gu crìch,
'N sin gabhaidh tu mi steach do d' riogh'chd,
'S cha chuir mi dorran ort gu sìor,
ORAN MHAOIS.
ECSODUS, xv. 1.—21.
Chaidh an t-each a's am marcaich' a bhàthadh 's a' chuan,
'S chaidh na h-Israelich as o'n sàrachadh cruaidh;
A's bhuadhaich Iehobhah-'s gu'n tog sinn an àird
Oran molaidh d'a Ainm-san a shaor sin o'r càs.
'S e gàirdean an Tighearn ar dìdean a mhàin ;
'S e 'Neart-san a bhuadhaich 'sa chìosnaich ar nàmh ; 'S e 'n Tighearna Dia a chog air ar taobh,
'S a bhuaidhich air Pharaoh, 's ar naimhdean a sgaoil.
Chaidh a mharo shluagh 's a charbaid a shlugadh 'sa' chuan,
Ann an deimhneachd na fairge fhuair iadsan an uaigh!
Tha do lamh-sa, Iehobhah, ro ghlòrmhor gu h-euchd,
Cò 's urrainn do bhacadh, no cogadh riut Féin!
An nàmhaid a dh'éirich a' t'aghaidh le h-uaill
Gu'n do sgap, agus bhàth thu an doimhneachd a' chuain :
Mar an asbhuain le gaoith air a fuadach 's gach àit'
Rinn anail do chorruich an casgradh gu bàs.
Agus Pharaoh's a chuideachd, le 'n uaill a's le❜m bòsd,
'S a' mhuir tha 'n an laidhe gun phlosg a's gun deò:
Le t'Anail rinn rathad do d' phobull roi'n chuan,
'S air gach taobh dhiubh na tonnan rinn seasamh a suas.
Le bòsd a's buaidh-chaithream an namhaid gu'n d' éigh,
"Leanaidh--a's beiridh-'s bheir creach dhiubh gu léir:
Mo thlachd tha 'n an sgrios, 'n an dìobairt, 's 'n an àr;
Agus rùisgidh mo chlaidheamh, a's casgraidh gach tràill!'
Shéid anail do Spioraid air aghaidh nan stuadh,
Agus shluigeadh do naimhdean an doimhneachd a' chuain;
Chaidh iad fodha mar luaidhe 's an aigeal a sìos,
'S o dhaors' a's o thrioblaid do shluagh thug thu nìos.
O! Thighearn, Iehobhah, cò 's cosmhail riut féin
'N am measg-san gu léir ris an abarar dée ?
Cò tha'n glòir a's an cumhachd co-ionnan ri Dia?
Cò dh'fhaodar a choimeas 'an tuigse r'ar Triath ?
Do lamh shìn Thu mach o dhubhar an neòil,
'S'n an laidhe 's a' chuan tha do naimhdean gun deò :
The nations shall hear, and, with trembling, shall ow
Almighty the Power which our foes has o'erthrown.
The arms of the valiant unnerved shall decline,
And hosts stand in motionless dread, Lord, of Thine:
The princes of Edom in terror shall quake,
The knees of thy mighty men, Moab, shall shake.
Thy sons, Palestina, droop helpless in woe,
And Canaan melt from his presence as snow:
Thou hast rescued Thy people from slavery's yoke,
Thy mercy the chain of their vassalage broke.
Thou wilt lead them triumphant through desert and sea,
To the land fixed as theirs in Thy changeless decree—
The land of long promise, where, placing Thy throne,
Thou reignest Almighty, and reignest alone!
The horse and the rider are thrown in the sea,
And Israel, escaped from her bondage, is free;
Jehovah has conquered-to Him we wiil raise
The song that bursts forth from our hearts in His praise.
THE HOUR OF DEATH.*
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O, Death!
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer;
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.
The banquet hath its hour,
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears-but all are thine.
Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee; but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey?
We give on the opposite page verses composed by the Rev. A. Clerk, Minister of Kilmallie, and evidently suggested by this wellknown Poem of Mrs Hemans, the first two verses being a translation; but throughout the other six verses Mr Clerk follows his
Nis cluinnidh na cinnich, 's air bhall-chrith bheir géill, 'S do chumhachd gun aidich bhi tharta gu léir.
Agus gàirdean nan uaibhreach gu'm meataich le sgàth 'N uair a chluinneas an dìol th'air do naimhdean 's gach àit'; Agus criothnaichidh prionnsachan Edoim gu léir,
'S bidh treun-fheara Mhoaib fo gheilt mar an ceudn'.
Bidh mic Phalestina fo uamhan, 's fo bhròn,
'S luchd-àitich' Chanàain ni leaghadh roimh d' ghlòir :
Do shluagh rinn thu shaoradh o chuibhreach nan tràil',
'S do thròcair thug fuasgladh o'n àmhghar 's o'n cràdh.
Roimh 'n mhuir a's roi'n fhàsach, ni 'n tearnadh o'n teinn,
'S bheir seilbh dhoibh 's an dùthaich a rùnaich thu féin-
Ann am fearann a' gheallaidh 's an rioghaich Thu 'm feasd,
Oir Dhuit-se bheir umhlachd am pobull gun cheisd.
Chaidh an t-each a's am marcaich' a bhàthadh 's a' chuan,
'S chaidh na h-Israeilich as o'n sàrachadh cruaidh;
A's bhuadhaich Iehobhah-'s gu'n tog sinn an àird
Oran molaidh d'a Ainm-san a shaor sinn o'r càs.
Tha âm aig an duilleach 's an tuit e o'n chraoibh-
Tha àm aig na blàthan 's an searg iad roimh'n ghaoith-
Tha àm aig na reultan 's an gabh iad mu thàmh;
Thar gach àm agus aimsir tha cumhachd a' Bhàis !
Tha 'n latha gu cùram 'us obair an t-saogh'il—
Tha 'm feasgar gu coinneamh, a's caidreamh luchd-gaoil—
An oidhche gu ùrnuigh, 's gu tàmh ann an suain;
Tha imeachd a' bhàis aig gach tràth agus uair!
Tha 'n leanabh glé mhaiseach 'an ùrachd na slåint'—
Tha'n treun-fhear làn neart agus cruadail's gach căs—
Tha 'n t-aosda gu glic, 'us gu fòill ann na cheum;
Oige, treu'ntas, no gliocas, cha dìon iad o'n eug!
Tha airgead a' ceannach mòr chumhachd 'us spéis-
Tha foghlum 'cur innleachdan neartmhor air ghleus-
Tha gaisgeadh thar naimhdean a' cosnadh na buaidh;
Beairteas, fòghlum, no gaisgeadh cha ghlais iad an uaigh!
own train of thought, and puts a good finish on it, by directing the reader to the Saviour, who deprived Death of his sting and the Grave of its victory, and brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel.
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