WHAT CHRIST IS TO THE BELIEVER.
Lord Jesus, Thou art my justice, and I am Thy sin; Thou hast taken what is mine and given me what is Thine. What Thou wast not Thou didst become, to the end that I might become what I was not.—Martin Luther.
THE STUMBLING OF DOEG, THE EDOMITE.
A second sort of stumbling that we should beware of, is, the stumbling of Doeg, the Edomite (II. Sam. xxii). When a storm was like to arise upon the Church and people of God, he stumbles so far at these things, as he falls to be an accuser of those who had been employed in the work of God and walked in their integrity; to accuse the honest holy David, and from an accuser came to be an open persecutor of the people of God. We should take heed, that for currying of favour to ourselves, we be not accusers of others.—James Guthrie, the Martyr.
Beachd Gràis air an t-Saoghail.
I.
‘S mìle marbaig ort, a shaoghail,
‘S carach, baoghalach, do chleachdadh,
‘S gar nach ‘eil mi sean no aosmhor,
‘S lionmhor caochladh tha mi faicinn;
‘S trie am bàs le shaighdibh dùbhlanaich
A tionndaidh mùirn gu airtneal,
‘S a foirt aoibhneis mhóir gu bròn,
‘N uair bhios ar suil ri sòlas fhaicinn.
‘S tha gach là a teagasg iùil dhuinn
Chum ar eùp a ghiùlan faic’leach,
Ma’s e’s gu faigh sinn làine chuimseach,
‘S cuibhrionn iomchuidh e gu’r n-astar;
‘M fad ‘s a bhios sinn anns an fhàsach,
Gheibh sinn aran’s pàirt ri sheachnad,
‘S cuim am biodh ar gearan uaibhreach,
Bho nach lion e suas ar beairteas.
Gar na ghlac mi móran stòrais,
Cha do chrìon mo chòir gu airceas,
An t-aran lathail fhuair mi ‘n còmhnuidh,
‘S math gu leòir gun stòr air seachad;
An tì rinn taodhal mór ‘s an fhàsach,
Cha do thàrr e maoin a thasgaidh
‘S fheàrr am beagan buain le gràs,
Na oighreachd ‘s achanna chaich thoirt dhacaidh.
‘S gàbhaidh bhuaidh a th’ air annta daoin’,
A h-uile h-aon air saod a bheairteis,
‘M fad ‘s am fagus ‘falbh g’a fhaotainn,
‘S cogadh ‘s caonnag g’a thoirt dhachaidh;
‘S lionar neach tha ‘cosd a shaothrach,
Nach do bhlais a mhaoin le taitneas,
‘S maighich a ghlacas creach nam feumnach
Chum e féin dhèanamh beairteach.
An tì a thaisgeas siol na truailleachd,
Cha bhi ‘stòras buan gu mairsinn,
Ged a dh’fhuin e glaiste suas e,
Gheibh e sgiathan luath chum astair:
Mar an iolair ‘shiubhlas bhuainn,
Chum nan nèamh le fuaim ‘s le clapraich,
‘S amhlaidh beairteas thig le foill,
Ge mór a shraigheilich, ‘s faoin a’ mhairsinn.
‘S trie tha’m beairteas na chùis-dhìtidh
Dha na miltean tha g’a ghlacadh,
‘Carnadh suas le cruas ‘s droch-innleachd
Cuid an dilleachdain gun taice:
Bithidh a bhanntrach dhoibh fo chis,
‘S trie a dhìobair i’n t-aich-tighe.
‘S cruaidh an cridhe a bh’aig an linn
A dh’orduich lagh cho millteach crosda.
Chuir iad cas air reachd na fìrinn,
‘S ghluais iad dìchiollach ‘s an droch-bheart.
‘Claoidh nam bochd ‘s ga’n lot le mìorun—
Banntrach ‘s dilleachdain gun choiseachd—
B’ uamhasach an cleachdadh tìre,
Croich a’s binn air àird gach cnocain,
Chìreadh nan spleagh gun lagh, gun fhìrinn,
‘S trie a dhìt an tì bha neo-chiontach.
‘N uair bhios gràs ann an luchd-riaghlaidh,
Bithidh na h-ìochdarain làn aiteis,
‘S bithidh gach prìomhsa, ‘s diùc, is iarla,
‘Seasamh nan còir fo sgiath a’ cheartais;
Cha bhi duine bochd gun phòrsa,
‘S cha bhi deòiridh truagh gun taice,
‘S bithidh gach cealgair air am fògradh,
‘S cha’n fhaigh luchd-an-fhoirneirt fasgadh.
—Mrs. Clark.
Ri leantuin.