27 JULY 1867, Page 15

/ - 1 LORD above, Thy wrath is swift and deep !

I,/ By grace, not works, Thou sanctionest thy sheep, And blest are they who till the day o' doom, Like haddoeks, bear the marking of Thy thumb ; , , , , And curet, in spite of works and prayers, are they On whom thy mark has ne'er been printed sae.

For while the non-elected lie beneath, And feat, in flaming fire, and gnash their .Above their heads, where streams of honey spring, Thy elders stand in shining sarks, and sing, And bless Thy Name for present gifth and past.. . 0 wife, John oalloway is dead at last !


Dead? Weel, we all are bound to God's abode, And John has started first upon the road.

A kind gudeman and true was John indeed, And free o' siller unto folk in need': Ay ! many a home will want now he is cold, But God will give him back his tenfold. SANDIE.

Q Jeanie Gourley ! let thy tongue be still ; It talks o' things you understand but ill : I doubt, I sorely doubt, John Galloway Is 'neath the oxter* o' the De'il this day : True, in the way o' sinful flesh, his mind Was charitable, and his ieart was kind ; But light he lacked as long as he drew breath, And lost the eldership before his death ; And he had many a ghostly whispering To tell he was a miserable thing, Doomed by the wisdom of the Just to be pendenmed with those who graceless live and dee.


Elder! Where find a better in the pack ?

Grace! Who had grace but be on Nannie Black ?


A Babylonian bike ! puffed up wi' pride, Till got bairn by all the country-aide- ribboned heap o' shamelessness and sin !


Shame sae to speak anent your kith and kin I For all men say, from Thornoch to Glen Airn, That Elder Ross was father to the bairn.

What then? Who opened up his purse to feed Poor Nannie and her bairnie in their need ?

Not Ross, who stole the fruit and had the fun, But poor Jelin. Galloway, who tasted none.


Shame be to thee ! yea, woman, bitter shame, Sae to belie the holy elder's fame 1 What said the elder, holy man, himsep ? " The flesh is weak, the De'il is strong—I fell ; For but awhile he conquered, then at last I from my door the shameless woman cast : The flesh fell, Sandie, tempted by her face ; The spirit triumphs now, by dint o' grace !"

Aud grace, I fear, John Galloway was denied, Though loud and oft for grace he groaned and cried.

"Sandie," he used to say, "I fear, I fear I have no right amang the holy here ; I fear, I fear that I am in the dark— The Lord on me forgot to pat His mark.

I canna steel my heart to folk who sin, I canna put my thoughts to discipline ; Oft when I pray, I hear Him whisper plain, ' Jock Galloway, pray awa', but 'pis in vain'- Nae sweet assurance arms me 'gainst the De'il, Was happy faith, like that my fellows feel : I long for God, I beg Him on my knee, But fear He hath to wrath previsioned me 11!


Poor man ! his strife was sore ; but, Sandie, mind, Nae man can tell what folks are predestined ; - Even Sandie Gourley may be one the De'il }lath liberty to catch within his creel !

* Armpit. SANDIE.

Oh, blasphemy ! Thou fool,' fOrbear and cease !

The sigh o' grace is perfect faith and peace, Such as the Lord, in spite of many 'a cross, Vouchsafes to men like me and neighbour Ross. But Galloway ever was it'braxie sheep, A whining thing WhO'dug his doubts too deep.

Why, mind ye, when old Robin Caird'himiel'— A heretic, a rogue, a Man 'o' Averring written Scripture was a lee, And God was hard:—stretched ont'hia limbs to dee, John by the sinner knelt and offer'd prayers— "Lord God," he said, " pity his poor white hairs !

Be kind unto him! Take him unto Thee-!"— And paid the coffin and the burial-fee. " Sandie," he said, when Caird was in his grave, " I doubt I am less holy than the lave : My heart is milk, a weak and worthless thing,— It broke my heart to see his suffering. I thoughtL-I dared to think—if I "vtre God, Poor 'Caird shOuld never gang so daik a road, And thought—ay, dared to think—the Lord forgie !

To think the Lord was crueller than me ; ' " Forgetting God is juit, and knoweth -best What f011i should burn in fire, what folk be blest."

Milk was John'i nature, neither strendiidi deep,— Stern, strong, must be the leaders of His sheep: We made an elder of John GallOway.

Large seemed his heart, he ne'er was known to stray ; But' he had little strength or wrath severe- He softened at the sinful pauper's tear ; He gript his purse and pleaded like a fool Por'eVery lassie on the cuttie-stool.


Where had the parish bairns sae kind a friend ?


Bairns? did he-teach them grace and make them mend ? At Sunday school what bairn had thought or care For fear o' flaming Hell, if John was there, Questioning blushing brats upon his knees, And slily slipping in their hands bawbees ?

Once, while he talked to me o' life and death, I smelt the smell o' whisky in his breath.

" Drinking again, John Galloway?" I said ; As gray as this pipe-reek, he hung his head.

" 0 Sandie, Sandie!" he replied, I ken I am indeed the weakest man o' men.

Strange doubts torment me daily, and, alas !

I try to drown them in the poisoned glass.

By fits I fear! and in my chamber say, Lord, is Thy mark on poor John Galloway ?

And sorely troubled, stealing slily out, • I try to drown the wee black dell o' Doubt."

Woman, is this the man you would defend ?

Nay, wheesht awhile, and hearken to his end.

When he fell sick, in Martinmas, his fears Grew deeper far ; I found him oft in tears ; Plough from the prophets of Clod's might I read, HO hearkened, but was little comforted, • And even " Revelations " had no power To soothe the pangs of his departing hour. A week before he left this vale of woe, He at his window sat and watched the snow Falling and falling down without a sound, roured slowly from God's hand upon the ground : "See, Sandie, how it snaws I" I heard him say ; "How many folk are cold, cold, cold this day 1 How many want the fire that's warming me 1 How many starve 1—and yet why should it be ?" And when I took the Book, explained, and read, He only gave a groan and shook his head. " Clearer and clearer I perceive my sin, How I to grace may never enter in ; That Book is for the strong, but I am weak ?"— And trembled, and a tear was on lijs cheek.


Poor man! poor man ! small peace in faith he found.


The day he died, he called the Elders round,

Shook hands, and said, " Friends, though I gang from here, Down under earth, all will at last be clear.

Too long have I been dwelling in the dark, The Lord on me forgot to put His mark, God help me !" And, till he was cold as clay, His foolish lips had little more to say ; And after we had laid him down in dust, Weak to the last we found him, and unjust ; For when his will was read, unto our shame, The Kirk was scarcely mentioned in the same !

But he had left what little gear he had To Caird's sick widow and her lass and lad !