THE following letter was received by the Rev. Neil Cameron, Glasgow, on the 30th March:—
C/O NATIVE COMMISSIONER, BEMBESI,
MATABELELAND, 8th March, 1907.
MY DEAR MR. CAMERON,
I received your kind and most welcome letter some time ago. I am sorry that I did not manage to reply to it sooner, but I have been kept very busy as usual. As I am all alone at present, and besides keeping the services, I have to teach in the day school and evening school, and often feel tired and done up, I was obliged to put off writing until to-day. I hope you will pardon me for the delay.
In my last letter, I told Mr. Mackay that one of the Wali boys was seriously ill, and that he was vomiting blood, and was not expected to live. You will be sorry to hear that he has since died. At the beginning of his illness he seemed to have been in great darkness—was full of superstition. He was under the impression that he had been bewitched at his home for having come to the mission. He used to say that his people were unwilling that they should come and that was why they had bewitched him. I continued speaking, reading the Bible and praying with him; he did not seem to be paying any attention at all to what I was saying, as he used to cover himself up with his blanket whenever I began to read the Bible and speak to him, and seemed so restless, and so gave me cause for great anxiety for his eternal welfare. However, a few days before the end came, light from on high seemed to have dawned on him. He now began to listen to the Word read with very great interest, and before he was taken away gave every evidence, as far as I could judge, that he was a sinner saved by grace. The other Wali is also not very well, and has had to take a change home. I got a letter from him to-day, telling me that he had not yet quite recovered, and that he intended, if all’s well, to be back to the mission before the end of the month.
Chief Ngege’s son is still here, and am thankful to say that he is still enjoying good health. My father at home is still sick, though not laid up. I think you saw in Mr. Mackay’s letter that I got married last December. We both wish to be remembered to the friends in Scotland, as I am always telling her about our people in Scotland.—Yours sincerely,
JOHN B. RADASI.
Thomas Boston, of Ettrick.
AS noticed in last Magazine, the first day of May sees the two hundredth anniversary of the induction of Rev. Thomas Boston to the charge of the Parish of Ettrick. It was the beginning of a remarkable ministry, in which consecration of life to a high calling and deep concern for the eternal interests of those committed to his trust were beautifully blended. Apart altogether from the fact that Boston was the author of the Fourfold State, he has claims to our attention as one of the most faithful of Scotland’s pastors. With unwearied interest, he watched over his flock as one that had to give an account, and, though for many years he looked in vain for any fruit, yet after the years of famine came years of plenty, in which the seed sown in tears was reaped with joy. Fortunately, Boston has left in the General Account of My Life and Passages of My Life as full a record of his spiritual experience and of the incidents connected with his history as one could well wish. The two MS. books referred to were used by his grandson, Michael Boston, as the basis of the interesting Memoirs of Thomas Boston, and the serious reader will find in it one of the most instructive and edifying books in our Scottish religious literature.
Thomas Boston was born at Duns in 1676. At the early age of eleven, while listening to the preaching of Rev. Henry Erskine, the father of Ralph and Ebenezer, the truth came with power to him. The sermons that most impressed him were from the texts, “O, generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” and “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” In after years, referring to this important event in his life, he says, in his “Soliloquy on the Art of Man-Fishing”—”Little wast thou thinking, O my soul, on Christ, heaven, or thyself when thou went to the Newton of Whitcome to hear a preaching. When Christ first dealt with thee, there, thou got an unexpected cast.”
In 1699 he was called to Simprin. A minister could scarcely have entered on a more forbidden sphere of labour. The people were grossly ignorant, and, as a result, there was a chilling indifference to the exercises of the sanctuary. Nothing daunted, the young minister accepted the call, and, as a keynote to his ministerial labours, preached his first sermon from the text, “For they watch for your souls as they that must give account.” And from that day there was a watching for souls that hallowed Simprin forever in his memory. He devoted his time to pastoral visitation, studying, praying with and for his people. He instituted prayer meetings and catechisings, and gradually the blighting frosts of a long and dreary spiritual winter began to show signs of passing away. To use the Scriptural figure, “instead of the thorn there had come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier there had come up the myrtle.” When he came to Simprin there was no family worship held in the place, but ere he left it worship was kept in every home. The recollection of the happy days he had spent at Simprin drew from him in after years the grateful acknowledgment,
“Simprin was a field which the Lord had blessed; Simprin! O, blessed be He for His kindness at Simprin!” In 1706, a call was presented to him from Ettrick, and, after serious consideration, he decided to accept it. The wrench from Simprin was painful in the extreme; and, as he beheld the deep grief of his beloved and attached people, his tears mingled with theirs. “How could my eyes fail,” he said, “to trickle down with tears.” He bade them farewell in those words of the Lord Jesus, so suggestive of great opportunities passing by, “In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.”
He was inducted to his new charge on the 1st day of May, 1707. He soon learned, to use his own expression, that he was away from home. The people of Ettrick, he tells us, were “naturally smart, and of an uncommon assurance; self-conceited and censorious to a pitch, using an indecent freedom both with Church and State. . . . And for the Sabbath’s sermons, they were but coldly enough received; but remarkable was the pricking up of ears when anything relative to the public fell in, which was a wounding observe to me.” In 1708, a public fast had been appointed by the civil magistrate, and, as the people of Ettrick regarded this as an interference of the civil power with spiritual things, they were vehemently opposed to the observance of the fast. We find the following entry in the Memoirs concerning the matter:—”But the Lord’s Day immediately thereafter, it was so stormy, that I had only a few to preach to, in the house. Then I found myself like a bird shaken out of its nest, and was an owl in the desert. Instead of the converse I, sometimes a-day, had with exercised Christians about their own spiritual case, I was engaged in disputes about the public, and about separation, and how to defend the lawfulness and duty of hearing me preach the Gospel, and for the most part to no effect. So that many a time it was a terror to me to go out among them; and coming in particular places I often looked very blunt, finding myself beset with contemners of me and my ministry; who often kept not within the bounds of common civility. The humour of deserting my ministry and breaking off from under it, continued from time to time, without any notable step, till the affair of Closeburn brought it about nine years after. Since that time there has been a remarkable settling among them in that point; howbeit, even since that time I have had as much of that treatment as will not suffer me to forget where I am.” No small part of his trials came through the Union of 1707 and the Abjuration Oath of 1712, though he was against both. The Abjuration Oath was one of the unwelcome outcomes of the union of the English and Scottish Parliaments. It was regarded by the stricter Presbyterians as a snare to take away their liberties, being so constructed as to involve the swearer in the approval of an Act of Parliament which provided that the successor to the Crown should always be of the Episcopal communion. All the ministers of the Established Church had to take this oath before a certain date, under a penalty of £500 if they refused. Boston
had fully made up his mind to refuse; but the Government, finding so many Scruplers, as those were called who were opposed to the Act, wisely refrained from enforcing obedience.
In 1716 he received a call to Closeburn; this awakened his people to realise that they were in danger of losing the minister whom they had treated so coldly. “Herewith,” he tells us, “the people were much alarmed, and in their own rough way showed a mighty concern for my continuance among them. And thus the trouble of the parish about me began just about the time when, in the year preceding, my trouble with them was going to the highest pitch.” Many attempts were made to get him to accept this call, but he resolutely refused. “That which,” he says, “was the real ground of my aversion to Closeburn was that I had a most uncomfortable life at Ettrick, and my work among them had all along been exceeding heavy, through the disposition of the people—selfish, conceited, and tending toward the schism* (i.e., the Reformed Presbyterians), which was most deep-rooted in this place; hence proceedeth contempt of ordinances, ministers, etc., to the great breaking of my spirit. To have gone to Closeburn, a parish of the same character, I reckoned would have been just to begin my weary task anew; in one word, to have cast me ‘out of the frying-pan into the fire.'”
In 1717, the first Simson case was decided by the General Assembly. Simson was charged with having leanings towards Pelagianism; but, notwithstanding, the Assembly passed a very lenient sentence. Boston was deeply concerned at the lack of faithfulness manifested by the Supreme Court, and predicted future trouble from Simson. The prediction was soon fulfilled. Simson now went a step further in his heretical teaching, and promulgated views that were regarded as distinctly Arian. The Assembly, instead of deposing him, simply suspended him from the discharge of his ecclesiastical functions. Boston felt that there was a betrayal of his Lord, and, rising in the assembly, addressed the Moderator in these memorable words—”I cannot help thinking, Moderator, that the cause of Jesus Christ, as to the great and essential point of His supreme Deity, is at the bar of the Assembly requiring justice; and, as I am shortly to answer at His bar for all that I say or do, I cannot give my assent to the decision of this act. On the contrary, I find myself obliged to offer a protest against it. And, therefore, in my own name, and in the name of all that shall adhere to me, and if none here will, for myself alone, I crave leave to enter my dissent against the decision of this act.”
In the famous Marrow controversy, which agitated the Scottish Church, Boston took a very prominent part, but as that subject has already been dealt with in these pages, and as our space is well-nigh exhausted, we pass from an account of this controversy meantime. No account of Boston’s life would be accurate which failed to bring before the reader the deep spirituality of the pastor
* Though Boston held this opinion of the R.P.’s, it is not to be understood that we are committed to it.—D. B.
of Ettrick. He was a man of prayer if ever there was one in Scotland. Special days were set apart and devoted to fasting and prayer. Scattered up and down through his Memoirs there are innumerable references to these exercises. The result of it was that Boston came forth to preach and to write as one who felt the awe of the Holy One of Israel resting upon him. It is this, more than anything else, that has made his writings a treasure-house for the serious and pious people of Scotland for generations. We cannot here enter on a discussion of these works, but hope to return to the subject in a future issue, if that be the Lord’s will. Boston also occupies a very high place as a scholar and a theologian, but his claims to these honours have been lost sight of in what he was as a pastor and a writer of books, dealing with experimental religion.
Boston did not see the Secession of 1733, having died the year previously. Death to Boston was a serious matter, and we find this entry in his Memoirs—“On Tuesday, the 2nd, I kept a secret fast in preparation for death. The night before, apprehending that I would not be able to go through that work all at once, I resolved to pursue it on different days; and having begged of God that He would raise me up in the morning, even about six o’clock, I did accordingly rise long before day; and after my ordinary devotions, addressing myself to that work, in order to review my sins . . . I got a humbling sight of myself. Then, bowing my knees before the Lord, I did silently read over the confession before Him, which done, I prayed, and made confession of my sins as fully and as particularly as I could, and there I got a view of my whole life, as one heap of vanity, sin and foolishness. It appeared a loathsome life in my eyes, so that my very heart said I loath it, I would not live always, and I loathed myself on account of it.”
But we must hasten to a conclusion in this very imperfect sketch of one of the saintliest of Scotland’s ministers, and cannot do better than quote his own last words in his Memoirs. “Upon the whole,” he says, “I bless my God in Jesus Christ, that ever He made me to be a Christian, and took an early dealing with my soul; that ever He made me a minister of the Gospel and gave me some insight into the doctrine of His grace; and that ever He gave me the blessed Bible and brought me acquainted with the originals, and especially with the Hebrew text. The world hath all along been a step dame to me, and wheresoever I would have attempted to nestle in it, there was a thorn of uneasiness laid for me. Man is born crying, lives complaining, and dies disappointed from that quarter. ‘All is vanity and vexation of spirit.’ I have waited for ‘Thy salvation, O Lord.’”
“The great, the grave, judicious Boston’s gone,
Who once, like Athanasius bold, stood firm alone;
Whose golden pen to future times will bear
His name, till in the clouds his Lord appear.”
D. B.
Focal Iomraidh air Mr. Robison Urramach.
(LATE OF KINGUSSIE.)
RUGADH Mr. Iain Robison, ‘s a’ bhlidhna 1757, ann an Achanahalraig, dlùth air Caisteal Gòrdon, an Siormachd Bhainbh. Fhuair e cothrom sgoile ann an làithibh ‘oige; agus thog e a chuid ionnsuchaidh gu h-ealamh. Fhuair e bhi ‘n a mhaighstir-sgoile ‘s a’ bhlidhna 1778; agus chuir an Comunn urramach an Dun-éidin e, ‘s an dreuchd so, do Sgìreachd Far, ann an Siormachd Chataobh, gu àite d’an ainm Ach-a-nis, am braighe na sgìreachd sin. Cha robh e ach ùine ghoirid ‘s an dreuchd, agus ‘s an àite so, gus am faca minsteir tuigseach ‘s a’ choimhears-nachd, gu ‘m bu duin’ òg e air an do bhuillich an Tigearn tiodhlacan agus comasan inntinn a bha neo-àbhaiseach. Agus mhisnicheadh e leis a’ mhinsteir sin, agus le minsteiribh eile ann an Clèir Thunga gu dol air aghaidh am foghlum, agus amharc ri dreuchd na minstreileachd. Cha ruig sinn a nis air iomradh poncail a thabhairt mu ‘n àm, no mu ‘n dòigh àraid ‘s an do thoillich an Tigearn obair nan gràs a thòiseachadh ‘n a anam; ach a mhàin làn dearbchaidh bhi againn gu ‘n do thòisicheadh ann i, an làithibh ‘oige, agus gu ‘n do dhearbh a chaithe-beatha sin, anns gach ceum. Cha b’ i gairm dhaoine a mhàin a fhuair e; agus dhearbhadh sin gu pailt, leis an tomhas mhòr agus fharsuing ‘s an d’ aidich an Tigearn a sheirbhis an déigh sin. An déigh dha feitheamh air meadhonaibh an fhoghluim iomchuidh ann an Oil-thigh Dhun-éidin, fhuair e comas searmonachaidh ‘s a’ bhlidhna 1788, agus air an ath-bhlidhna ghaireachd e gu bhi ‘n a fhear-teagaig do choimhthional Acharainidh, ann an Gallaobh—cha b’ Eaglais Sgìreachd i san robh e ‘n a Mhissionary. An déigh dha bhi mu chùig bhlidhna ‘s an àite sin, fhuair e an ath ghairem gu dol do chèarna eile do ‘n fhion-lios,—Eirioball, ann an Dùthaich Mhic-aoidh, far an robh aige bhi a’ searmonachadh do thri’ coimh-thionalaibh, an Sgìreachd Thunga, an Sgìreachd Dhùirinis, agus an Sgìreachd Eadar-a-chaolais. Agus an ceann chùig bhlidhna a rìs, fhuair e an ath ghairem, o ‘n choimhthional Ghàidhealach ann am baile Bhòid. Shaothraich Mr. Robison ‘s a’ choimhthional sin ma aon bhlidhna deug; agus fhuair e an ath ghairem, an déigh sin, gu Sgìreachd Chinne-ghùibhsaich am Bàideanach, far an do bhuanach e ‘n a shaothairibh, mu ùine chùig bhlidhna deug, gus an d’ fhuair e gairm an Ard-mhaighstir dol dachaidh; air a’ cheathramh là domhios meadhonach an earraich, ‘sa’ bhlidhna 1825.
Tha aon ni sònruichte r’ a amharc air ann am beatha an duin’ urramaich so,—mar fhuair e co iomadh gairm, agus co iomadh atharrachadh a thaobh ionadan a shaothrach, ann an seirbhis an t-soisgeil. Agus ged tha so ri amharc air ‘s a’ choitchinn, mar ni nach tigeadh do ‘n Eaglais no do a luchd-teagaig bhi an geall air; gidheadh, feudar a ràdh le saorsa, nach b’ ionann Mr. Robison agus iomadh duin’ eile. Agus ann an amharc air a’ chùrsa ‘s an do ruith e, rè làithean a chuairt; bha, agus tha fathast, comharr-aidhean sònruichte air an tabhairt, gu ‘n robh obair àraid aig an
Tighearn r’ a dhèanamh leis, anns gach àite agus càrna far an do shaothraich e. Bu duine Mr.ison, a bha a’ tighinn beò do rireadh, am fagus do ‘n Tighearn. Bha a sheasamh aige ann an comhairle an Tighearn. Tha a rùn-san aig an dream d’ an eagal e gu fior: agus bha sin r’ a fhaicinn air an duin’ urramach so. Ged bha an Soisgeul air a shearmonachadh roimh dha dol ann, anns a’ cheud dà àite far an do shaothraich e, chunncas ath-bheothachadh iongantach air obair an Tighearn, an déigh dha dol ann. Agus fhad ‘s a thoilicheas an Tighearn a shoisgeul glòrmhor féin a chumail air chois, agus fianuisean dha féin a measg an t-sluaigh, cha di-chuimhnichear gu bràth, teagasg agus saothair agus cliù Mhr. Robison. Tha iad fathast r’ am faotainn anns na càrnaibh ud mu thuath, gu ‘n aithnicheadh tu air an gnùis, ri luaidh ainm an duine bheannaichte so, gu ‘n do chuir an Tighearn do rireadh buaidh dhoibhsan ‘n a theagasg. “Seadh, tha an Spiorad ag ràdh, chum gu ‘m faigh iad fois o ‘n saothair; agus leanaidh an oibre iad.” Agus ged nach b’ i sin beachd an t-saoghail, cha ghearrain teaghlach a’ chreidimh gu ‘n abradh sinn e, —a thaobh an dà choimhthionail mu dheireadh, far an do shaothraich Mr. Robison,—nach robh an Soisgeul, gu fallain no gu soilleir air a shearmonachadh ‘n am measg, gus an do stiùir an t-Ard-bhuachaille Mr. Robison d’ an ionnsuidh, agus sin air slighe nach b’ aithne dha féin, gus an d’ ràinig gach gairm dhiubh sud fa leth e; agus an sin, gu ‘n d’ fhuair e breithneachadh gur h-ann o ‘n Tighearn a bha iad. Eadar e féin is an coimhthional ann am baile Bhòid bha ceànglaichean ro-dhlùth, fo bhannaibh an t-soisgeil. Bu “lòchran lasarach agus dealrach e,” cha b’ ann a mhàin ‘s a’ choimhthional sin féin, ach air feadh nan càrnain timchioll: agus ged b’ iomadh sàruchadh a fhuair e, eadhon o luchd-dreuchd Eaglais, a bha coimheach, bha an Tighearn ‘g a aideachadh;—bha an fhianuis aige-san ann féin; agus tha fianuis fathast a’ leantuin a shaothraich. Mu thimchioll a shaothraich agus mar dh’ aidich-eadh e ann an Sgìreachd Chinne ghiùbhsaich—cha tig dhuinn labhairt gu farsuing; ach ann am focal, a ràdh, gu ‘n robh an Tighearna maille ris. Tha iad fathast a làthair ‘s an Sgìreachd agus air feadh na dùthcha sin, a dh’ aidicheas, gu ‘m b’ e là an sonais dhoibh, an là, ‘s an d’ fhosgail an Tighearn dorus dha gu tighinn ‘n am measg:—tha; anama, agus tha dòchas nach ainneamh iad, d’ am bi a chuimhne blasda, fhad ‘s a chaomhnas an Tighearn iad ‘s an fhasach. Aidichear leo-san, gur h-e an Tighearn a chuir ann e.
Bu duine Mr. Robison, gu ‘m b’ ainneamh a leithid, air iomadh dòigh. Cha tuilleadh ‘s a’ chòir-dhuinn a ràdh, gu ‘m b’ urramach e eadhon a measg nan urramach! Bha a chomasan, eadhon mar thiodhlacaibh nàdurra, àrd, foghainteach, bunaiteach, farsuing. Agus ‘n uair dh’ analaich an anail bheò orra sin; ‘n uair dhealraich an solus a stigh orra, ‘n uair bhaisteadh le teine iad, mar a rinn-eadh do rireadh; an sin, b’ aillidh agus bu chumhachdach an t-inneal a dh’ ullaich gràs, air son na seirbhis a chum an do
ghairmeadh e. Gun a dhùthchas bhi Gaidhealach, b’ fhiannuis do na tiodhlacaibh a chaidh a bhuileachadh air, mar choisinn e a’ Ghaelig; gu ‘n d’ fhuair e a leithid do ghreim oirre, eadhon mar chànan, nach aithnicheadh duine ‘s am bith nach b’ i a chànan mhàthaireil, dhùthchasach i, b’ i eadhon bu roghnaiche leis féin: agus bha iomadh, d’ am bu choimh-dhèis am focal èisdeachd anns a’ chànan so no ‘s a’ Bheurla, leis am bu roghnaiche Mr. Robison èisdeachd ‘s a’ Gaelig. Agus b’ e féin aig an àm cheudna idir nach do chaill a chuid Beurla, ach a dh’ fheudadh a labhairt ri rìghribh. O thùs na réise a ruith e, ‘s ann a thàinig Mr. Robison a mach, ann an treunad neirt. Gheibhteadh ‘n a theagasc saoibhreas do bhlasdachd nan gràs. Bha bunaiteachd, soilleireachd, farsuingeachd agus ùghdarras r’ am faotainn ‘n a theagasc, a bha iongantach, ainneamh r’ am faotainn. Bha tomad, brigh, agus farsuingeachd tuigse ann an cuartachadh ‘s ann an cuimseachadh nithe spioradaill, ann an togail inntinn an Spioraid ‘s an fhocal; bha so uile ann a leithid do thomhas air a bhuileachadh air, agus nach robh, theireadh tu, focal a labhradh e, nach seasadh air a bhonn féin:—ach cha b’ ann! ach air bonn neo-ghluasadach na firinn a sheasadh, ‘s a dhealraicheadh iad, ann am maise ‘s an sgèimh na firinn, mar tha i sin ann an Iosa Criosd. Chiteadh gu soilleir, gu ‘n d’ rinneadh ‘inntinn do rìreadh ‘n a h-ionmhas a bha saoibhir. Ann an sgoltadh ‘s ann an mineachadh theagasgan bunaiteach an t-soisgeil far am bu shoilleir do a luchd-èisdeachd gu ‘n fhuair e féin fois agus sòlas, bha soilleireachd, teas ghràdh, mineachd, agus ùghdarras mar a’ co-choiseachd a chéile: agus e gu dian agus gu dìleas a’ treòrachadh a luchd-èisdeachd a chum na Carraige bithbhuain, mar bhrìgh agus mar shùim theagaisg. Ma ‘s ceadaichte dhuinn sloinneadh an duinealas a thoirt do ghiùlan agus do ghnuis fhir teagaisg ann an tigh ‘s ann an seirbhis Dhé cha b’ aithne dhuinn idir, ‘s cha ‘n fhaca sinn, e’ aig an robh e mar ann an gnùis Mhr. Robison; agus so cha b’ ann idir mar an-dànachd; ach fo fhiamh agus eagal diadhaidh, a chiteadh aig an àm cheudna eadhon ‘n a eudan ceanalt;—a thuisge agus a ghràdh araon mar ag iarruidh greim a dheanamh air anamaibh; agus gu ‘m faigheadh e an giùlan leis air falbh o dhìomhanas, ‘s o thru-aillidheachd, ‘s o dhìteadh; ‘s a’ foillseachadh a’ ghràidh sin, chiteadh a shùilean làn, agus cha b’ ainmig a shìl iad. Ach ‘s ann gu sònraichte, ann an co-fhaireachduinn ri cloinn na h-ath-bhreith, ‘n an amgharaibh agus ‘n an amhuinneachdaibh, a gheibhteadh araon a chaomhalachd, a dhìlseachd, agus a ghràdh, ann an spàirn cleachdaidh, ‘g an gairm, agus ‘g an tàladh a dh’ionnsuidh ionaid am fasgaidh agus an suaimhneis. Is ann an so, cuideachd, a chiteadh fior irioslachd agus fior chaoimhneas, a’ cur dreach air a ghnùis, a bheireadh fianuis do ‘n anam shàruichte, gu ‘n robh an duine ud, e féin, gun teagamh, air ionnlad ann an tobar a’ ghràidh shiorruidh, a shuidheachadh aige ann an dearbh rùn a’ ghràidh shiorruidh, agus e ‘g a’ mhineachadh ‘s ‘g a’ mholadh. B’ urramach, agus bu ghràdhach an sealladh, os ceann gach àite eile ‘s an
seasadh e, Mr. Robison, aig ceann bòrd an Tighearn; a chridhe làn, ‘anam mar air a dhòrtadh a mach, an am briathraibh spioradail, sèimhe, cudthromach, agus e mar ann an làthair a’ chroinn-cheusaidh, a’ moladh agus a’ cliùthachadh an Uain. Is tric a shaoil sinn gu ‘n d’ fhuair e an sud, air dhòigh àraid, èarlas an òrain nuaidh, ‘n a uchd agus ‘n a bhilibh; agus a spiorad a’ géilleadh fo chumhachd a sheallaidh air ionmhasaibh do-ranns-uichte gràidh Dhé ann an Criosd. A Mhr. Robison urramaich! chuir Saor-ghràs an t-urram ort ‘n ad latha, gu ‘n do thionaileadh a stigh leat na caoraich chaillte gu lìonmhor,—gu ‘n do bheathaich-eadh an treud leat! gu ‘n d’ altrium thu naoidheana an teaghlach, agus gu ‘n d’ fhàs iad suas fo ‘n ionaltradh, a thugadh dhuit as an leth gu a roinn orra. Agus gu cinnteach b’ e sin do shonas ‘s an fhàsach. T’ fhalluinn gu ‘n tuit air do chloinn ‘s air cloinn do chloinne! Gu ‘n togadh an Tighearna suas do leithide, ann an àm feuma aobhair an Rùin shìorruidh, ‘n ar n-Eaglais.