ROBERT BURNS.

Freethought Review, Volume II, Issue 22, 1 July 1885, Page 11

ROBERT BURNS.

Rear high thy black majestic hills, Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread ; And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills And wave thy heaths with blossoms red. For he, the sweetest bard, is dead That ever breathed the soothing strain. A marble bust of the illustrious Ayrshire ploughman now occupies a niche in. the Temple of Fame at Westminster Abbey. Several eminent men of letters were present at the recent unveiling of the memorial, and excellent speeches ■were delivered on the occasion by Lord Rosebery, the Dean of Westminster, and others. The former was the perfection of cultured eloquence, as he generally is, but it is deeply a matter for regret that the latter should have so marred an otherwise graceful speech by reference to Burns as “ a prodigal son of the church,” It is gratifying to note, however, that admiration for the genius of the Scottish bard lias not been confined to the respectabilities of orthodoxy. Sunday evening, the 25th of January, being the anniversary of the birthday of Bobert Burns, several representative spiritualists of London conducted a religious service derived wholly from the works of the poet. The hymn sung was “ A Prayer in the Prospect of Death,” the latter portion of “ The Cottar’s Saturday Night ” was read as a lesson, and a lecture on “ Spiritual Lessons from Burns’ Poems” appears to have concluded a most agreeable meeting. Probably no other writer has done so much to destroy the blighting and withering Calvinism of Scottish theology as Robert Burns. The first of his poetic offsprings which saw the light was his “Holy Fain.” This he describes as a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, and certainly they are so exceedingly well satirized that we can readily understand that the poem was received with roars of applause.” But what gave the kirk the most alarm was “ Holy Willie’s Prayer.” This caused the greatest flurry imaginable, and the “ rigidly righteous ” soon held “ several meetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed against profane rhymers.” Perhaps in this must be reckoned to exist Robert Burns’ prodigality ! The Dean of Westminster candidly admitted that hypocrisy exists in every church, and that this the poet most keenly satirized. But that Burns had also a deep-rooted antipathy to all priest-craft and superstition, the Dean entirely omitted to mention. For who can doubt the verdict were the orthodoxy of the author of “ Tam o’ Shanter ” decided by an appeal to the thirty-nine articles of the Church of England 1 Truly, “a prodigal son of the Church” he would be, this “ simple bard, rough at the rustic plough.” “ Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick’ or Clootie ” had no real or personal existence in Burns’ creed. “ Wheree’r that place is priests ca’ hell ” carried no fears with him; and as to a belief in the doctrine of total human depravity we know that he has written that “gloomy sectaries have branded our nature by the principle of universal selfishness, the proneness to evil they have given us—still the detestation in which inhumanity to the distressed, or insolence to the fallen, are held by all mankind, shows that they are not natives of the human heart.” And in Burns’ correspondence we probably get a deeper and a truer insight of his religious and emotional nature than anywhere else, and learn how earnestly he had endeavoured to solve those problems “which school’d men” have tried to unriddle and left as mysteries still. With Burns religion was a very simple business indeed, and it could hardly be possible to find the Utilitarian doctrine of morality more neatly worded than by him. Writing to the ‘ Edinburgh Courant,’ “ Whatever militates the woes, or increases the happiness of others, this is my criterion of goodness • and whatever injures society at large, or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity,” It thereupon seems of little moment what one’s speculative opinions are, providing this rule of life is duly recognised. “Prodigality to a Church can then be of no consequence.

It must be remarked, however, to the honour of the Dean of Westminster, that, in paying a tribute of praise to the memory of the poet, the weakness of the man was most touchingly and delicately alluded to. Burns was brave and singularly compassionate withal, and the proverb was in nowise forgotten that of the dead we should say naught but good. To the poor rustic bard, born in poverty and obscurity, let us then say—all that is immortal of thee still lives, and “ May the turf lie lightly on your bones ! and may you now enjoy that solace and rest which this world seldom gives to the heart, tuned to all the feelings of poesy and love !” Free Lance.