THE GLEANER.

Evening Star, Issue 14625, 22 July 1911, Page 11

THE GLEANER.

TBy Dtocax Wright, Dnnedin.] No. 165. 'THE LAND 0' THE LEAL.' Txa waring awa', Jean, Like enaw when it's thaw, Jean, Tm weaiing awa' To the land o' the leal. Thexe's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task's ended 1100, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Oor boiraie bairn's there, Jean ; She was baith guid and fair, Jean; 0 we grudged her right sair To the land o' the leal. Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, My soul langs to be free, Jean, And angels wait on me To the land o' the leal. Now faro ye weel, my ain Jean, This warld's care is vain, Jean; We'll meet and aye be fain In the land o' the leal. Lady Nairn. WHAUB ATHEISM FAILED. The bairn had deed. The puir mither was hertbroken. The faither wis an Atheist (no God). There lay her deid j bairn—white, waxen, cauld—-an' as she j lookit on the tinv wee figure, wi' its bonrtie ; face like chiselled marble, a cauld, icv ; feeling) swept ower her hert. They wad j tak' awa' hir bairn an' lay it in the cauld j gran withoot a prayer or a word o' hope, j " Hoots! it's only sentiment," says ane. | "Whit guid does it dae the deid body! whether 'we hae a religious service or uo?" j " Av, but dae ve ken we a' get sentimental. | as ye'ca' it, when Daith taps at the door; or "enters oor hames; an' it's wonnerfu j the comfort we get frae the Scriptures m , cor times o' danrfcnees an' sorrow." ' The mither tell't the faither whit she : wanted. He said it wis nonsense. Then . he tell't hir nae minister wad come, be- , cause they belanged ta nae kirk; but the mither gaed awa tae ane wha wis weel kent tae evervbodv's body, an' tell t him what she wanted." Of coorse he gaed. Whit servant o* Christ wad refuse the cry j o* the puir an' needy? The service wis j held. The husband's freens —Atheists like , aroun', apparently mdiffe- | rent. Nae sound is heard but the sobs o the mither. A week later the minister ; ca'd again to see the family. Only the faither wis in the hoose. an' he wanted tae ! talk aboot exports an' imports, an his grievances, both real an' imaginary. " Na, na," said the minister, ' I m no i heie tae argue wi' ye aboot thae things; : but only aboot Jesns an* salvation. Dinna be angry wi' me, brither. I dinna want tae hurt ye're feelin's, but dae ve mean ; tae tell me that your bairn deed like a j doug, an* that ye buried it as ye nucht i bury a doug, wi' nae hope o' a resurrec- | The big tears dropped doon_ his cheeks, j an' he tried to control himself. -( | " I hae dug a grave as deep as you, j continued the minister. "My ain hert j his been torn inst as yours his. I hae j stood by the side o' an open grave > an , heard the clods fa' on the coffin lid o my . bairn, as vou hae; but in that oor I thankit God that I kent Jesus Christ wis the i resurrection an' the life, an' that ae day . I wad meet my bairn whaur there wid j be nae sickness nor daith, an' I f ett His grace strengthened me. 'Tell me, ho! said. ' wha his the best o' it?'" ! "You hae certainly," was the honest j answer. I "An' whit I hae ve may hae. Just \ Ist tre ask for it."—A true story from | ■ Sonthern Cross.' j * ****** Now let my friend Mr Joseph Wright, j merchant and philanthropist, sing : Ahint the clouds the sun is bricht, i An' whiles oor herts are fain To lea' the struggles o' this warl'. An' flee to yon bricht hame — The mansions o' the blest are there, j Wi* herte a' free frae pain; ! We'H gang when His guid time comes roon', ' For..we xe a' welcome hame., We'll meet wi' freens we kent lang syne, j Wha frae oor herts were taen; ! They couldna bide, for Jesus ca'd I Them up tae His ain hame. We'll meet them, an' we'll welcome be Whaur Jesus is to Teign; We'll gang when His guid time comes roon'. For we re a' welcome hame! ******* "YIR MITHEE'S BYE THE GATE." | Elsie, the dying mother, could only . murmur softly :" " Its a' bricht and blyth- | came whaur I'm walkin* noo—there's nae j valley here nor nae glen ava', but the wav is fu' o' licht and beauty." Her eyes oonght her husband's face: "Oh, Donal! Just to think we canna walk this way thegither! We've clomb the hill thefither, Donal, mony a time sair an' weary, ut oor herts were stoot when the brae wi,s etae. But noo I've reached the bonnie bit a-vont the brae, an' ye're a' that's wantm, Donal. to mak it fair and beautiful. But ye'll no be lang ahint me, wull ye, Donal ? An' the Maister'll come back tae guide ye gin I'm gane bye the gate. An' we'll aye walk thegither m the yonner land." Later an she said to the wandering son who had just returned: —"I'll sune win hame, an' I want ye to say yir bit prayei to me, Robin, afore I g*ng, just the way ye did when ye were a wee bairnie. Tvneei doon, Robin," an' say it to me, and we'll ] baith sav it to God, for I'm weary tae i gang. 'Noo I'll lay me!' ye ken." And ■ so beside his mother's deathbed the strong man repeated the words of long ago. ■ " Now I lay me down to sleep," etc. Sud- i devdy the pointed with uplifted hand: j " Oh, faither, I'll see oor Elsie, an' it's a' j bricht wi' golden licht. She's bidden us ; a' hame —me and faither an' Robin " —and | she passed into the homeland bearing ■ •the prodigal's name with her to God. I gently closed her eyes. Donald stood j long beside the bed; then taking his son Robert into his arms he said: " Yir mither's by 9 the gate." ******* MY AIN COTJNTRIE. Just two Sundays ago a gifted young maiden sang in the real Doric, and sweeth", the well-known sacred song so dear to Scottish hearts : 1 am far frae my hame. and I'm weary aften whiles. For the lang'd for hame bring in' an my father's welcome nniles, An' 111 ne'er be fu' content until my een do see . The gowden gates o* heaven an' my ain countrie. He is that hath promised, an' He'll surely come again. He'll keep His tryst wi' me—at what hoor I dinna ken; But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie. Sae I'm watchin' aye, an' singin* o' my hame as I wait, For the soun'in* o' His fe«tfa' this side the gowdea gate. God gie Hi* grace to ilka an© who listens noo to me, Thaft *»» a* may gang in gladness to oor aia conntrie! * ' * * * * * • I quote from Ml Joseph WrigbtTo tiio sweet old tune, so dear to Scottish hearts, 'The Flowecs of the Forest,' he has written the following lines: When ianely an' eerie, When heart-flair an' weary, When dark clouds o" trouble bring eighin' and fears, There's Ane gangs beside ye Tae share a' that grieves ye, Hae patience, an' Jesns will dry a' yir tears. Be aye leal an' faithful, Too* oast doon an' waefuL Aye lippen, tho' burden'd wi' sorrow and feaa; When a' seems against ye, He aye bides beside ye, Hae patience, an* Jesus wall dry a* yir < ■ tux*.

TWA BOXES FOR A PENNY. A poor wee, thin, hungry chap at '<* hotel door in Edinburgh one cola night begttcd two gentlemen to buy some matches. They did not want matches, but eo very urgent was the- wee man that he said : "I'll gie ve twa boxes for a penny." I bought a box, but found I had no change, bo I said "Til buy one to-morrow." " Oh, do buv them the nicht, if you please. I'll rin an' get change, for I'm very hungry." I gave him a shilling, and he darted off to get change. I waited, but he failed to appear, and of eonrse I concluded that my money was gone for good. Late in the evening a servant came to say a email boy wantea to see me. He was a smaller brother of the boy who got my shilling, but still more ragged and poor and thin. " Are you the gentleman that bocht the matches frae Sandy?" "Yes." "Weel, then, here's fourpence oot o' yer shilling. Sandv canna come. He's no weel. A cart rim ower him and knocked him doon, an' he lost his bonnet, an' his matches, and your eevenpence; an' baith his legs are broken, an' the doctor 6a.ys he'll dee." So I went with him to see Sandy. A drunkard's home, and the boy on a bundle of shavings. Again he told how it all happened, and then sobbed out: " And. oh ' Reuby—wee Reuby! I'm shair I'm deein', an' wha'll take care o' Reuby when I'm awa'?" Then I took the sufferer's hand in mine, and told him I would look after Reuby. He understood me, and just had strength to give me a look of thanks. Then tne light went out of his blue eyes, and in a moment He lay within the light of God, Like a babe upon the breast, Where the wicked cease from troubling And the weary are at rest. And Reuby was not forgotten. ******* Iu days long ago, when I was, us. a voting man, struggling to comprehend the mysteries of Scotch law, and also grappling with the elements of Scotch theology in a modest wav, the Rev. P. Hately Waddfll, D.D., was. iu Glasgow, a well-known thinker and preacher He founded what was called - The Church of the Future," but the building ended in being a wholesale rag store. Dr Waddell was'a gifted man, and had a passion for Burns and the auld Scottish tongue Here is how he wrote the 23rd Psalm : The Lord is my Shepherd, in itocht am I wan tm: In the naugh o' green girse does He mak' me lie doon; While mony puir straiglers are bleatin' and pantin'. By soft-flowing burnies He leads mo at noon. When aince I had strayed far awa' in the brocken, And daidled till gloamin' cam' ower a' the hills, Nao dribble o' water my sair drouth to sloeken. And dank grow'd the nicht wi' its haar and its chills. Awa' frae the fauld, straying fit-sair and weary, I thocht I had naething—to dae but to dee; He socht me and found me in mountainhichts dreary, He gangs by tell paths which He kens best for me. And noo, for " His name's sake," I'm dune wi' a' fearin', Tho' clouds may aft gaither and soughin' winds blaw. Hoo this? or Hoo that? oh, prevent me frae speirin: His wull is aye best, and I daurua say n a. The valley o' death winna lleg me to tread it, Tho' awfu' the darkness I weel can foresee ; Wi' His rod and His staff He will help me to tread it, And then will its shadows, sae gruesome, a' flee. For fochen, in praisence o' foes that surround me, My Shepherd a table wi' dainties luis spread ; The thyme and the myrtle blaw fragrant around me, Ho brims a fu' cup and pours oil on my head. -. - Surely guidness and mercy, despite a' my roamin', Will gang wi' me doon to the brink o' the raver; Ayont it, nae mair o' the eerie and gloamin', I will bide in the hame o' my Faither i for ever. '