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So the multitude goes—like the flower and the weed
That wither away to let others succeed ;
So the multitude comes-even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that hath often been told.
For we are the same that our fathers have been,
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,
We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun,
And we run the same course that our fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think :
From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink;
To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling-
But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing.
They loved—but their story we cannot unfold ;
They scorned-but the heart of the haughty is cold ;
They grieved—but no wail from their slumbers may come ;
They joy’d—but the voice of their gladness is dumb.
They died-ah! they died ! and we, things that are now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
Who make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together like sunshine and rain ;
And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other like surge upon surge.
'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death ;
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud-
0, why should the spirit of mortal be proud !
CASTE AND CHRIST.
“ Ho! thou dark and weary stranger,
From the tropic's palniy strand,
Bowed with toil, with mind benighted,
What would'st thou upon our land ?
“Am I not, 0 man, thy brother?”
Spake the stranger patiently,
“All that makes thee, man immortal,
Tell me, dwells it not in me?
* I, like thee, have joy, have sorrows;
I, like thee, have love and fear;
Mar eo tha 'mhòr chuideachd-a' falbh mar am blàth
Tha 'seargadh gu rùm 'thoirt do aon teachd, 'na làit';
Mar sin tha 'mhòr chuideachd a' pilleadh a rìs
Gu aithris gach sgeula gu tric a chaidh inns'.
Oir tha sinne 's gach ni mar bha iadsan a thréig,
Gach sealladh a chunnaic iad dhuinne nis 's leur,
Ag òl do'n aon fhuaran, o'n ghréin 'faotainn blàth's,
A' ruith san aon chùrs' mar rinn iad-san, 'nan là..
Ar n-athraichean bhreithnich 'nan là mar an clann,
A's sheachainn am bàs mar ni sinne san àm ;
A's leanadh ri'm beatha 's ri'm maoin mar sinn féin
Ach nan deann tha air falbh mar an t-eun air an sgéith.
Thug iad gaolmach an sgeula co 's urrainn a luaidh ;
Rinn fanaid-ach cridhe nan uaibhreach tha fuar ;
Rinn bròn-ach an osnaich cha chluinnear gu bràth,
Bha greadhnach—'s an aighear chaidh a' chosg leis a' bhàs.
Ach dh'eug iad-a's sinne 'tha 'saltairt an tràs
Air an fhòid 'tha 'g an còmhdach an tosdachd a' bhàis ;
A' tuinneach car sealain far 'n do thuinich na tréin,
'S a' còmhlach' gach caochladh a thachair riu féin.
Tha dòchas 's an earbsa, toilinntinn a's péin,
Air am measgadh mar dhubhar's mar bhoillsgeadh na gréin ;
A's an gàire, 's'an deur, 's an cumha, 's an dàn,
Tha 'leantuinn a' chéile mar thonnan air tràigh.
Mar phriobadh na sùl, no mar bhoillsgeadh air fàir',
O dilleachd na slàinte gu duaich'neachd a' bhàis ;
O thaladh an aighir, gu bothan a' bhròin-
Ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-shaoghalach bòsd!
DIOBARRAICH AGUS CRIOSD.
“O!'choigrich sgìth, 'sa tha ro chiar-dhubh,
O'n tir ghrianaich 's pailmeach fonn,
Ciod a thug an so d'ar tìr thu,
Crom le claoidh, 's le h-inntinn throm?”
“ Nach bràthair dhuit mi féin a dhuine ?"
Ars' an coigreach dubh gu fòill,
“Na ni neo-bhàsmhor thusa 'dhuine,
Nach do thuinich annam fòs ?
Cosmhuil riut, tha bròn, tha aiteas
Agam féin, le geilt a's gràdh ;
I, like thee, have hope and longings
Far beyond this earthly sphere. “Thou art happy, -I am sorrowing
Thou art rich, and I am poor ; In the name of our one Father,
Do not spurn me from your door. Thus the dark one spake, imploring
To each stranger passing nigh ; But each child and man and woman,
Priest and Levite passed him by. Spurned of men,-despised, rejected,
Spurned from school and church and hall, Spurned from business and from pleasure,
Sad he stood apart from all. Then I saw a form all glorious,
Spotless as the dazzling light, As He passed, men veiled their faces,
And the earth, as heaven, grew bright. Spake he to the dusky stranger,
Awé-struck there on bended knee, “Rise ! for I have called thee brother,
I am not ashamed of thee. “By Myself, the Lord of Ages,
I have sworn to right the wrong ; I have pledged my word, unbroken,
For the weak against the strong. “When I wedded mortal nature
Tomy Godhead and my throne, Then I made ail mankind sacred,
Sealed all human for mine own. “And upon my gospel banner
I have blazed in light the signHe who scorns his lowliest brother,
Never shall have hand of mine." Hear the word !--who fight for Freedom !
Shout it in the battle's van ! Hope! for bleeding human nature !
Christ the God, is Christ the man!
Thiagam miannan agus dòchais
Thar mòr-inbh an stòil so 'n dràst. Tha mi 'caoidh, 's tha thusa sona,
Tha mi bochd, 's is leatsa maoin ; 'N ainm ar n-Athar na buin coimheach
Rium o d' dhorus, oir 'sinn aon.” Sud thuirt an duine dubh le osnaich,
Ris gach coigreach 'thriall g'a chòir ; Chaidh Sagart, 's Leibh'each seach gun umhail
Dà, 's gach duine beag a's mòr.
O sgoil, o eaglais, 's as gach cuideachd,
Bhuin gach duine ris le tàir ;
Sheas e cian air falbh gu dubhach,
O gach subhachas bh'aig cách. 'N sin chunnaic mise cruth ro-ghlòrmhor,
Soilleir, òirdheirc, glan, gun smùr ; Mar nèamh dh'fhàs talamh geal 'nuair thriall e,
'S chomhdaich daoine fiat an gnùis. Thuirt e ris a' choigreach lachdunn,
'Bha le ball-chrith air a ghlùn, “ Eirich ! ghairm mi féin dhiot bràthair,
’S leam nach nàrach tigh’nn dhuit dlù. Ormsa mhionnaich mi, Aosd’-làithean,
'Bhi 'cur deas na ’s cearr mi féin, M'fhocal naisg mi air son thruaghan
'Sheasamh buan an aghaidh threun. ’N uair dh'aon mi féin an nàdur bàsmhor,
Ri mo Dhiadhachd ard 's ri m'chùirt, 'N sin rinn mi’n cinneadh-daonna 'sheuladh,
'Suas dhomh féin gun tréibh nan diù Air brataich ålninn àrd mo Shoisgeil
Sgrìobh mi boillsgeil, geal, ’na clàr, 'Neach le'm fuathach bràthair dìblidh,
Choidhch', gu sior, cha ghlac mo lamh. Fhir a thagras air son saorsa,
So do ghlaodh air tùs na strì, Dòchas mòr! do'n dream tha piantach !
Criosd an Dia, 's an duine Criosd!
I STOOD on an open plain, facing the bounding sea,
And watched the dancing waves as they rolled all bright and free ;
The playful winds swept by me, in glad carousal there ;-
I mused on nature's freedom, so sportive and so fair.
The clouds with gaudy tinges flew swiftly o'er my head,
And golden-crested sea-birds by the ocean's margin sped ;
My spirit like the waters seemed dancing to the song,
of the breeze which whispered sweetly, and wooed the waves along.
I gazed up to the heavens- their deep and boundless blue-
To thoughts of sweet eternity my swelling spirit flew;
I prayed a wordless prayer to the God whom none can see,
And blessed Him who created man the freest of the free.
I started from my reverie-a crowd had gathered round:
A sable maiden wept aloud-her graceful arms were bound ;-)
A mother with an infant upon her heaving breast;
A hoary-headed aged sire, with sorrow sorely pressed.
Around them passed proud planters: they asked the maiden's years-
They marked the mother's muscles, but they heeded not her tears-
They pinched the old man's arms, spoke harshly of his bones-
They heard each other's whispers, but were deaf unto his groans.
I heard loud voices shouting the price of flesh and blood;
The mother's tears her infant bathed with a convulsive flood.
The maiden by her father knelt, and madly kissed his hand-
The old man tore his matted hair, then sunk upon the strand ;
And there, like monuments of grief, with moist, averted eyes,
The old man and his daughter gazed upwards to the skies ;-
And inward asked if God was there, and prayed his swift decree,
To call their broken spirits home-to set the bondman free.
'Tis over-and by sinful hands the price of blood is paid;
One drags the groaning old man off-another drags the maid,
The infant from its mother's breast, sweet smiling as it gocs;
Strives to lisp out its mamma's name, unconscious of her woes.
Now boasting of their purchases, the planters turn aside,
And tramp the city's busy marts with ill begotten pride,
The Sabbath comes, the planters meet, and loudly sing and pray
But leave their broken-hearted slaves, to weep their life away.
Oh, proud man! let your hymns be pure, your supplications true,
“Do you to others as you would have others do to you;"
Go summon all your weeping slaves into the house of prayer,
And in the sight of God and man proclaim their freedom there.
So may you hope, when bound by sin, in realms you yet shall see,
The Saviour's all sufficing love shall set your spirit free,
But hope not to Heaven's gates to bear your captives' chains;
And yet escape the wrath of God, and its enduring pains.
Oh, calm shall be your spirits's peace, when slavery is no more,
Thou shalt glory in the dancing waves, as they kiss the pebbled shore,
The winds shall glad your patriot cheeks, and sport your locks among;
And Nature by her stars and moon, shall sing a cheering song.
And every bird thou seest fly, and every waving tree,
Shall whisper of the truth sublime, that thy own soul is free!
Free from the curse of slavery's chains, free from fresh blood and tears
Free from polluted lucre's gains, free from disturbing fears.
And in thy dreams shall visions rise most beautiful to view,
The ransomed babes along thy path shall perfumed roses strew,
And in thy waking walks of life, the constant song shall be,
5« God bless the truly christian man that set the bondmen free.