If life is spared, some other day, When I shall chance to come this way, A present unto thee I'll bring, Thou bonny, little woodland thing!
Little spinner, blithe and gay, Dancing thus thy life away!
A Queen her palace might resign, For a pillow soft as thine!
TO A BIRD SINGING IN WINTER.
Why, why, little bird, so cheerfully sing, When all things around look so sad?
The prospect at present, as touching the spring, Gives cause to be sorry, not glad!
Had April appear'd in loveliest hue, And made the green meadows look gay, Thou merrily might'st have mounted thy bough, And warbled thy minutes away.
But summer's far off, and still in the copse, The cold winter's snow doth descend, Fierce winds, and sharp frosts, may yet blast thy hopes, And bring thy sweet song to an end.
By craft of the boys, in bush, or in wood, Thy foot may be caught in a snare, And thou whilst seeking a morsel of food, Be a captive, ere thou art aware.
Why merrily sing, when thou hast no barn, In which to lay up thy grain?
Why warble thy notes, while unthankful man, So often is heard to complain?
Why cheerfully sing when there are no flowers, Or sun in the valley to shine?
'Tis proof that thy prospects are brighter than ours, Thy heart more contented than mine!
PETCH'S ELEGY!
How short, how frail is our abode on earth!
But yesterday it seems since we sprang forth: Life doth no sooner sparkle in our eye, Than we are subject to decline and die!
A brother Mason now a victim lies To Death, whose icy hand hath closed his eyes!
He sleeps, forgetful of his toil and care; In prime of life, no more his voice we hear.
No more the chisel moves within his hands, The sounding axe no more his skill demands: But silence reigns,-his spirit's gone to rest, His ransom'd soul is number'd with the blest!
His sins and follies here he did bemoan, A heavy burden, grievous to be borne; When lo, the Lord, a week before he died, Dispers'd the gloom, and all his wants supplied
In the Redeemer's blood he did believe, And God his pardoning love to him did give: Such depth of mercy fill'd us with surprise, And tears of gratitude flow'd from our eyes!
He boldly triumph'd in God's pardoning grace, With love and patience beaming in his face; Till fainting in the icy arms of death, He praised his God with his departing breath
How oft have we in health, and free from pain, Joyful to labour, cross'd the dewy plain, Before the morning stars had disappear'd, Or early harmony the woodlands cheer'd!
How oft have we been partners through the day, Or sung in hymns our nightly hours away!
Alas! my partner's gone! Can I forbear To welcome down my cheek the rolling tear?
No more on earth his voice shall mix with mine, In social converse, or in songs divine!
Be it my chief concern to be prepar'd, Like him to die, and meet my just reward.
False witnesses did raise a vile report, And laid things to his charge that he knew not: But now he's gone to be with Christ on high, Where he is safe, and may their power defy.
Now slander and reproach at once may cease; No more can they disturb our brother's peace!
Their arrows keen can never pierce his soul, He is departed, and hath reach'd the goal!
Farewell! but Oh! we hope to meet again, And join our voices in a nobler strain, Where Jesus our great Prophet, Priest, and King, In everlasting majesty doth reign!
REFLECTIONS ON PETCH'S TOMB.
Dear Petch belov'd! Thy endless portion's fix'd!
As death hath left thee, so shall judgment find: Thy spirit, with a world of spirits mix'd, Hath left its mouldering tenement behind!
Sprightly and active, thou the other day, Didst fill thy station in this world of cares; In life's fair morn, thy soul hath slipt away, From its delusions, and a thousand snares!
Thy cheeks a more than common bloom did wear, Thy voice with music sweetly did agree; Thy heart was lively, thy complexion fair:- Had I chose one for life, I'd chosen thee!
Perhaps thy mind dwelt on some future scene, Anticipating more than was allow'd, When pale affliction drew a veil between, And death appointed thee an early shroud!
Methinks I hear thee, while I thus survey The dreary place where thy remains are laid, Crying, "Prepare for the great judgment day!
That day which shall thy destiny decide!
There's no repenting in the gloomy grave, Nor in that world in which I now exist; Christ died, that he from hell thy soul might save,- Keep his commands, or thou wilt ne'er be blest!"
Here I should faint, reflecting on my theme, And recollecting thy great sins now past, Had not the grace of God, thy passport been, Had not heaven deign'd to smile on thee at last!
Hadst thou not given some proof of penitence, Had I not witness'd oft the bless'd effect, I might have fear'd, through disobedience, That Heaven for ever would thy soul reject.
But Oh, the saving power of grace divine, Which reach'd the dying thief upon the cross, Had visited that troubled soul of thine, Which else had mourn'd its everlasting loss!
Disrob'd of all his terrors, Death drew nigh,- Behind, a band of shining seraphs stood, He pointed toward the opening sky, And dipt his dart in the atoning blood!
His humble victim felt the stingless wound, And to his God resign'd his fleeting breath; He view'd Heav'ns portals through the gloom around, And shouted "Victory!" in the arms of Death!
Go, blooming youth, and share the rich reward, Purchas'd for such as thee with blood divine; Thank God, He ever did thy prayer regard, And caus'd the light of life on thee to shine!
May all the household of thy kindred dear, Hear and regard the caution thou hast given; Repent, and turn to God, with hearts sincere, And have, like thee, the earnest of their Heaven!
May I amidst a world of toil and care, Still bear in mind my Shepherd's care for me, Weep o'er my sin, each day for death prepare, Sigh o'er thy name-stamp'd tool, and think on thee!