of tweedsmuir.
And no vain strivings at an unknown mart
Surround the inmost lurkings of his soul,
Oh! surely his calm fate will onward roll
With less of misery than the man who knows
Enough of life to wreck his soul's repose.
Ah! who that dwells amid the city's din,
With all its conflict of enduring sin,
Its myriad cares, its many hopes and fears,
Its days of turmoil, and its busy years,
But who would gladly seek some mountain home,
Where he in blessed peacefulness might roam—
Contented reign in some secluded spot,
The world forgetting—by the world forgot?
A pastor's life, in such a scene as this,
Should be a life of godliness and bliss;
Guiding with grace each weary soul to heaven
(The wandering lamb into the sheepfold driven),
Until he finds a shelter far above,
Where all is tempered with undying love.
A cherished memory of that wild sweet scene
Comes with its beauty from the past, I ween,
Breathing a fragrance through the summer air,
Telling of love and peace that linger there,
In that far home, amid the silent wood,
Surround the inmost lurkings of his soul,
Oh! surely his calm fate will onward roll
With less of misery than the man who knows
Enough of life to wreck his soul's repose.
Ah! who that dwells amid the city's din,
With all its conflict of enduring sin,
Its myriad cares, its many hopes and fears,
Its days of turmoil, and its busy years,
But who would gladly seek some mountain home,
Where he in blessed peacefulness might roam—
Contented reign in some secluded spot,
The world forgetting—by the world forgot?
A pastor's life, in such a scene as this,
Should be a life of godliness and bliss;
Guiding with grace each weary soul to heaven
(The wandering lamb into the sheepfold driven),
Until he finds a shelter far above,
Where all is tempered with undying love.
A cherished memory of that wild sweet scene
Comes with its beauty from the past, I ween,
Breathing a fragrance through the summer air,
Telling of love and peace that linger there,
In that far home, amid the silent wood,
159
