Читать книгу Carols of Canada, Etc., Etc - E. S. MacLeod - Страница 15

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The low, sweet voice of a summer's sea

Floats far along the pebbly strand; Whilst melodies, from greening grove,

Resound o'er all the pleasant land. The streamlet, freed from icy band,

Sings gaily on its seaward way; All nature, in responsive mood,

Doth chime in Springtide roundelay.

What notes discordant dare to mar

Those tender cadenzas of song? Can those shrill tones be tones of wrath

On softest zephyrs borne along? Yea! over Ocean's peaceful hum

A woman's wrathful voice soars high; And through the green-arched forest aisles

Rings out young childhood's plaintive cry.

Who cometh, arrayed in priestly guise,

Full-charged with embassy divine, Of noble mien, of princely port,

Of lofty brow and look benign? The mother stays the uplifted hand;—

The culprit turned, and quickly ran And refuge sought, and shelter found

Beneath cloak of the holy man.

Calm, clear and firm the warning fell

"Forgive! if thou wouldst be forgiven; Whose heart doth harbor angry thoughts

Can ne'er as penitent be shriven. Forgive thy son! this once forgive!

His surety I shall gladly be; Or, if justice claimeth punishment,

Then—visit his crimes on me."The years rolled on; the priestly garb

Bedecks a princely prelate now; The saintly voice a blessing speaks

From underneath a mitred brow. In his rounds of zeal the Bishop seeks

Once more fair Lennox' sea-girt isle; When lo! from out the gathering shades,

The brilliant lights of welcome smile.

In centre of a glittering throng

The reverend Father stately stands; And, in the name of the Triune God,

He upraiseth his sacred hands. Whilst, leader in that vast array,

Whose torches brighten wave and shore, Is he whose faults were answered for;

The saved of many years before.

So we, in our rebel sin-nature,

Pine under the chastening rod; And fly with our burden of evil

From wrath of a just-dealing God, To hide in Christ's sheltering raiment

Of righteousness, inwove with peace; To find, in a sinless substitute,

The sin-fettered soul's release.

So we, when our Great High Priest shall come,

Begirt of power, enrobed of state, And the peoples of ten thousand isles

With eager joy His advent wait, Shall hail, with a heartsong of rapture,

His step on our sin-furrowed strand; Shall march, with the grand triumphal throng,

In the glow of a God-lit land.