Verses and Rhymes By the Way Part 11

From Ess.e.x, by thy waters, sweet St. Clair, To Gaspe, sentry on a stormy coast; From Prima Vista to Vancouver, where Will your departure be regretted most?

No Viceroy of this land has ever left Such large regrets, as you my Lord, will do; For admiration, confidence, respect Are felt for you the wide Dominion through.

The miner at his work, the axeman where He hews out fortune with enduring toil; The farmer with his plenty and to spare, For laughing harvests crown our fruitful son.

The fisher on our coast, the pioneer Who strives the distant wilderness to tame; The Indian hunter, wild unknown to fear, On his swift horse swooping upon his game

From settlers fanned by keen Atlantic air, To those the broad Pacific's breezes cool, To forest shade and prairie verdure, where Sit Indian maidens in the mission school

Never did Governor before receive Such loyal homage as your heart has won, Nor left so fair a record as you leave, Or stood so near to us as you have done

You have the kindly sympathetic heart Of her who loved the common people well, The n.o.ble lady who with witching art Taught us to sing the "Emigrant's Farewell.'

And the dear lady who has reigned your queen Over the gaieties of Rideau Hall, Her genial, gracious courtesies have been, A talisman to win the hearts of all

Oh, Earl, and Countess, if good wishes may Add anything to your most brilliant state, The wide Dominion with one heart will pray You may be blessed of G.o.d as well as great

A WELCOME

THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING

Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather On with the philabeg every man And up with the bonnet and badge of your father, Belt on the plaid of the great Campbell clan From the heather clad hills of that island In whose straths and glens your fathers were born They come, and so gather, ye hearts that are Highland, Welcome the Lord and the Lady of Lorne!

Gather, oh gather, &c.

Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing, Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile, O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle.

Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her, First royal lady our country has seen, To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver, We welcome thee Princess, child of our Queen.

Gather, oh gather, &c.

We had regret we sought not to smother-- Kind Earl, dear Countess were called to depart; But thoughtfully, kindly, the fair Queen our mother, Sends the son of her choice, the child of her heart.

There is a stir, a bustle, a humming, The tartans are waving, plumes floating free, While trumpet and drum sound, "The Campbells are coming"

We are all Campbells in welcoming thee.

Gather, oh gather, &c.

Son of Argyle, so near to the sceptre, And Princess Louise fair child of a throne, We welcome to stand for our Queen in this empire, Rule us, and love us, and make us your own Blow, wild pibroch, that welcomes no other!

Shout million-voiced _failte_, wave banners the while; She's worthy, fair child of so royal a mother, He's worthy the name and fame of Argyle.

Gather, oh gather, &c.

DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR

(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada who had been a.s.sisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host of friends and will long be remembered as among the n.o.blest of the band of gallant men who during this fearful epidemic died at the post of duty)

Far away from stricken Memphis Came the tidings sad and sure That among the many fallen, Fell the clansman Norman Dewar

There are eyes unused to weeping With the tears of sorrow dim, Hearts with nature's anguish heaving, Yet 'tis wrong to weep for him

None who fell in glorious battle, In the shock of meeting steel, Fell more bravely, died more n.o.bly More like son of true Lochiel

When the cry arose in Memphis That the yellow death had come, When the rich in fear were fleeing, And the poor with terror dumb,

Famine following the fever, Want of all things awful death, When forsaken by their kindred, Human souls gave up their breath,

There were men who felt G.o.d's pity, Strong to do and to endure, And among these brave and n.o.ble, At his post stood Norman Dewar

Firm and gentle, true and tender, Knowing all the danger well, This true son of old Glengarry Stood on duty till he fell

Highland hearts have breasted battle, Highland veterans show their scars, Highland blood has flowed like water In our Gracious Sovereign's wars.

We have praised in song and story, Those who bravely fought and fell, For Old England's might and glory, For the Queen they love so well.

And shall we this time be silent O thou clansman firm and true, Shall not loyal brave Glengarry, Through her tears feel proud of you

Thou hast fought the sternest battle, Thou hast met the grimmest foe; Christ-like stood by the forsaken Stood till death has laid thee low.

Praise thy sons, dear old Glengarry, Prompt to do, calm to endure; And among your very n.o.blest, Set G.o.d's hero Norman Dewar.

THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY

The Rev Mr Young was one stormy day visiting one of his people, an old man, who lived in great poverty in a lonely cottage a few miles from Jedsburg. He found him sitting with his Bible open upon his knees, but in outward circ.u.mstances of great discomfort, the snow drifting in through the roof and under the door, and scarcely any fire in the hearth. "What are you about to day, John?" asked Mr Young on entering "Ah, sir," said John, "I am sitting under His shadow with great delight."

They only see the snow heaped on the moor, The bare trees shivering in the winter's breath, The icy drift that sifteth through the door, Me, old and poor, waiting the call of death.

They think my cot is bare and comfortless, With broken roof and paper-mended pane, They see but poverty and loneliness, And think in pity that my death were gain.

They know not, Master, that Thou art so near, Thou holdest me, I lean upon Thy might, I know Thy voice, Thy whisperings I hear, I stay beneath Thy shadow with delight.

The royal purple of Thy garment died, From Bozrah, is spread over even me, All my unworthiness, my want I hide Under Thy princely vesture shelteringly.

Thy hand is underneath my weary head, Thy strong right hand that saved me long ago; I'm cradled in Thy arms and comforted, What more have I to do with want or woe

What more indeed! so sheltered, so embraced, For ever Thou art mine and I am Thine, Thy banner's love, Thy fruit sweet to my taste, Thou givest to my lips the Kingdom's wine.

How sweetly solemn is this awful place!

Where all of earth fades out and vanishes, I cannot fear while I behold Thy face, My help, my friend, the Lord my righteousness.

I do not feel the waters cold and deep, Waters to swim in through whose waves I come, The love that holds me up is strong to keep, 'Tis but a little way from this to home

My sight grows dim, my one Redeemer, Lord, Bring nearer still the brightness of Thy face, I hear Thy voice, a.s.suring is Thy word, Close to Thy heart is my abiding place.