Howl fir tree, for the cedars are falling,
The shadows still thickening come;
From judgments impending the Master is calling
His leal-hearted warriors home.
O rare was his worth of whom death has bereft us,
And straight was the race that he ran;
Few, alas! are his peers ‘mong those that are left us,
In him met the saint and the man.
“As a dew from the Lord” on the green hills of Zion,
He shone in the meekness of grace;
But in dark days of conflict he stood like a lion,
Resisting the foe to his face.
How fragrant his words, when in lowliness bended,
He poured forth his pleadings of prayer!
“As the smell of a field” on which blessings descended,
Sweet perfumes distilled through the air.
How kindled his eye as he dwelt on the sweetness
Of Covenant mercy and love,
Or, divinely enlightened, discerned his completeness
“In Him” who is mighty to save.
And long did his voice lead the songs of the people,
And forth in sweet melody swell;
On grassy hill-side, or beneath lofty steeple,
Its cadences soothingly fell.
Deep was his sense of our sinful condition,
And sore lay the weight of his load.
As with steps that were dewed with the tears of contrition,
He pressed up the steep hill of God.
“Large was his bounty,” and free from deception,
Sincerity called him her child;
A pledge to the stranger of kindly reception,
Was the beam of his countenance mild.
Like the light of the dawn from the womb of the morning,
Meek saintliness shone from his face;
In Christian fruitfulness richly adorning
The doctrine of God’s saving grace.
Friend of the loving heart, tender and loyal,
The last of thy battles is won;
Fair on thy head gleams a diadem royal,
And sweet is thy Master’s “Well done!”
Edinburgh, March. 1903.
S.