Feeding beside the Shepherds’ Tents

II.—MR. GREATHEART’S DESCRIPTION OF MR. FEARING.*

BY JOHN BUNYAN.

NOW, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman if he did not know one Mr. Fearing that came on pilgrimage out of these parts?

Honest.—Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the root of the matter in him, but he was one of the most troublesome pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days.

Greatheart.—I perceive you knew him, for you have given a very right character of him.

Honest.—Knew him! I was a great companion of his; I was with him most on end. When he first began to think of what would come upon us hereafter I was with him.

* This extract is taken from the second part of The Pilgrim’s Progress. It is the account Mr. Greatheart gives of Mr. Fearing, one of the finest and happiest delineations of Christian experience even from the master pen of Bunyan. Fearing’s difficulties were not quite the same as those of the other pilgrims. He was afraid he would never see the Face he came so far to see, for “the things with which he was oppressed no man yet could ever shake off with ease.”

Greatheart.—I was his guide from my Master’s house to the gates of the Celestial City.

Honest.—Then you knew him to be a troublesome one. Well then, pray let us hear a little of him and how he managed himself under your conduct.

Greatheart.—Why, he was always afraid that he should come short of whither he had a desire to go. Everything frightened him that he heard anybody speak of, that had but the least appearance of opposition in it. I hear that he lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for about a month together; nor durst he, for all he saw several go over before him, venture, though they, many of them, offered to lend him their hand. He would not go back again neither. The Celestial City, he said, he should die if he came not to it; and yet was dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled at every straw that anybody cast in his way. Well, after he had lain at the Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told you, one sunshine morning, I do not know how, he ventured and so got over; but when he was over, he would scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of Despond in his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with him, or else he could never have been as he was. So he came up to the gate, you know what I mean, that stands at the head of this way; and there, also, he stood a good while before he would adventure to knock. When the gate was opened he would give back, and give place to others, and say that he was not worthy. For, for all he got before some to the gate, yet many of them went in before him. There the poor man would stand, shaking and shrinking. I daresay it would have pitied one’s heart to have seen him; nor would he go back again. At last, he took the hammer that hanged on the gate in his hand and gave a small rap or two; then one opened to him, but he shrank back as before. He that opened stepped out after him, and said, Thou trembling one, what wantest thou? With that he fell down to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered to see him so faint. So he said to him, Peace be to thee; up, for I have set open the door to thee. Come in, for thou art blessed. With that he got up, and went in trembling; and when he was in, he was ashamed to show his face. Well, after he had been entertained there awhile, as you know how the manner is, he was bid go on his way, and also told the way he should take. So he came till he came to our house. But as he behaved himself at the gate, so he did at my master, the interpreter’s door. He lay thereabout in the cold a good while, before he would adventure to call; yet he would not go back, and the nights were long and cold then. Nay, he had a note of necessity in his bosom to my master, to receive him and grant him the comfort of his house; and also to allow him a stout and valiant conductor, because he was himself so chicken-hearted a man, and yet, for all that, he was afraid to call at the door. So he lay up and down thereabouts, till, poor man! he was almost starved. Yea, so great was his dejection, that though he saw several others, for knocking,

get in, yet he was afraid to venture. At last I think I looked out of the window, and perceiving a man to be up and down about the door, I went out to him and asked what he was; but, poor man! the water stood in his eyes; so I perceived what he wanted. I went, therefore, in and told it in the house and we showed the thing to our Lord. So he sent me out again to entreat him to come in; but, I daresay, I had hard work to do it. At last he came in; and I will say that for my Lord, he carried it wonderfully lovingly to him. There were but few good bits at the table, but some of it was laid upon his trencher. Then he presented the note, and my Lord looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted. So, when he had been there a good while, he seemed to get some heart, and to be a little more comfortable; for my master, you must know, is one of very tender bowels, especially to them that are afraid; wherefore he carried it so towards him as might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when he had had a sight of the things of the place and was ready to take his journey to go to the city, my Lord, as he did to Christians before, gave him a bottle of spirits and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we set forward and I went before him; but the man was but of few words, only he would sigh aloud.

When we were come to where the three fellows were hanged, he said that he doubted that that would be his end also. Only he seemed glad when he saw the Cross and the Sepulchre. There, I confess, he desired to stay a little to look, and he seemed for a while after to be a little cheery. When we came at the Hill Difficulty, he made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the lions; for you must know that his trouble was not about such things as those; his fear was about his acceptance at last.

I got him in at the House Beautiful, I think, before he was willing. Also, when he was in, I brought him acquainted with the damsels that were of the place; but he was ashamed to make himself much for company. He desired much to be alone, yet he always loved good talk, and often would get behind the screen to hear it. He also loved much to see ancient things and to be pondering them in his mind. He told me afterward that he loved to be in those two houses from which he came last, to wit, at the gate, and that of the interpreter, but that he durst not be so bold to ask.

When we went also from the House Beautiful, down the hill, into the Valley of Humiliation, he went down as well as ever I saw man in my life; for he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last. Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him, for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than when he was in that valley. Here we would lie down, embrace the ground and kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley. He would now be up every morning, by break of day, tracing, and walking to and fro in this valley.

But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the

Shadow of Death, I thought I should have lost my man; not for that he had any inclination to go back, that he always abhorred, but he was ready to die for fear. Oh! the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will have me! cried he, and I could not beat him out on it. He made such a noise and such an outcry here that had they but heard him, it was enough to encourage them to come and fall upon us.

But this I took very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet while he went through it as ever I knew it before or since. I suppose these enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, and a command not to meddle until Mr. Fearing was passed over it.

It would be too tedious to tell you of all, we will, therefore, only mention a passage or two more. When he was come at Vanity Fair, I thought he would have fought with all the men at the fair. I feared there we should both be knocked on the head, so hot was he against their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also very wakeful. But when he was come at the river, where was no bridge, there again, he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned for ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he had come so many miles to behold. And here also, I took notice of what was very remarkable; the water of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over at last, not much above wet shod. When he was going up to the gate, Mr. Greatheart began to take his leave of him and to wish him a good reception above. So he said, I shall, I shall. Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no more.

Honest.—Then, it seems, he was well at last.

Greatheart.—Yes, yes; I never had doubt about him; he was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low, and that made his life so burdensome to himself, and so troublesome to others.—Psalm lxxxviii.

He was above many, tender of sin. He was so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he often would deny himself of that which was lawful because he would not offend.—Romans xiv. 21.

Honest.—But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all his days so much in the dark?

Greatheart.—There are two sorts of reasons for it: One is, the wise God will have it so; some must pipe and some must weep.—Matt. xi. 16-18. Now, Mr. Fearing was one that played upon this bass; he and his fellows sound the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other music are; though indeed some say the bass is the ground of music. And, for my part, I care not at all for that profession that begins not in heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician usually touches is the bass, when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon this string first, when he sets the soul in tune for Himself. Only here was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing, he could play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end.

Searmon.

LEIS AN URRAMACH MICHAEL BRUCE.

(Continued from page 32.)

“An sin dh’áithn Ioseph an saic a lionadh le siol, agus airgiod gach duine a chuir air ais ’na shac, agus biadh a thoirt doibh air son na slighe: agus is ann mar so a rinn e riu.”—Genesis xlii. 25.

‘Se an ath ni a bheir sinn fainear, so,

Teag. 3. Ge do tha Ioseph ann an coslach a’ deilligeadh na’s roghàirge r’a bhràthraibh na ri neach sam bith eile anns an t-saoghal so, gidheadh air a cheann fa’ dheireadh, tha e tabhairt doibh am bargan a’s fearr.

Tha e do ghnà tabhairt dhoibh leaganach is oal, ach an deigh sin tha e tabhairt dhoibh ni-eigin o’s cionn neach sam bith eile anns an t-saoghal. Cha robh neach sam bith eile, co fhad ’sa ’s aithne dhuinne, a fhuair an cuid airgiod ann an cuid saic, ach bràithrean Ioseiph: Agus tha mise ag radh, gu’m bi a chuid is fearr aig sluagh Dhé do ghnà, ge do theireadh agus a mhionnaich-eadh ar cuid naimde ann an ceart aghaidh sin. Ann an labhairt ris a phuing so, ni mi gu h-atghearr,

I. Leigeil fhaicinn duibh cia mar a tha e tachairt, gu’m feum bràithrean Ioseiph am barrachd fhaotainn de na bhargan.

II. Feuchaidh mi dhuibh ciod e so a tha bràithrean Ioseiph a’ faotainn a thulle air muinntir eile.

III. Bheir sinn focal goirid rabhaidh dhuibh.

IV. Co-dhùnaidh mi an t-iomlan le focal cleachdaidh.

I. ’Nis mar air son a cheud aon diubh so, sin r’a radh, Cia mar a tha e tachairt, gu’m feum bràithrean Ioseiph am barrachd à bhi aca, ’se sin, mar is gnà leinn a radh, a bhuannachd agus am bargan a’s fhearr. Agus tha sinne ag ràdh, gu’m feum e bhi mar sin, air son na dhà no trì do dh’aobhairean so.

I. Do thaobh an t-seasaidh, agus an daimh faisg a bha eadar iadsan agus Ioseph, cha robh a leithid do dhaimh eadar Ioseph agus daoinne eile a thainig do’n Eiphit a cheannach siol; agus uime sin tha an daimh a tha seasamh eadar esan agus iadsan a’ tabhairt dhoibh còir na’s fearr a dh’ionnsuidh an fhàbhair so. Feumaidh càirdean agus bràithrean Chriosd am barrachd so a bhi aca, agus a ghiùlain o’n a chuid eile do’n t-saoghal.

1. Feumaidh luchd leanamhuinn Chriosd am barrachd so bhi aca, gu’n cuir se iad aig iomadh àm fuidh na chrois a thulle air muinntir eile. Is iomadh cridhe trioblaideach a gheibh iad, nach bi aig muinntir eile: is iomadh gruaim a gheibh iad a thulle air muinntir eile, mar chomharradh air a ghaol doibh, agus a bhuntainn gu caomhneil riu. Mar a tha e cuir eadar-dhealachadh eadar a shluagh féin agus a chuid eile do’n t-saoghal do thaobh na’n nithe so, mar sin cuiridh e dealachadh eadar iad agus iadsan do thaobh tròcairean agus seilbhean.

2. ‘Se’n steigh agus an t-aobhar air son am bheil sluagh Dhé a’ faotainn so agus am bargan is fearr a thuilleadh air muinntir eile, a chum is gu’m foillsich Criosd a ghaol agus fhabhar dhoibhsan a tha air an tabhairt a steach agus air an iompachadh, a chum is gu’m bi muinntir eile air an cuir fo cheangal leis gu theachd d’a ionnsuidh. “O blaisibh agus faicibh gur maith an Tigearn,” a deir an Salmadh, xxxiv. 8. Tha so na chuireadh gu theachd agus cuibhrinn fhaotainn do’n aran a tha e tabhairt do a chloinn féin.

3. Tha mi gu leigeil fhaicinn duibh ciod am barrachd, no’n tioclac a tha’n so, a tha bràithrean Ioseiph a’ faotainn a thuilleadh air muinntir eile. Agus tha na ceithir nithe so a tha iad a’ faotainn thairis air muinntir sam bith eile.

4. Tha na h-uile seilbh a tha iad a’ faotainn, co-dhiubh a tha iad ann an rathad soirbheis no doirbheis, a’ teachd a mach a làmh bràthair ionmhuinn a rugadh air a shon, agus a chleachdadh ri amhghar. Tha so a’ deanamh an trioblaidean na’s eutrom, agus an trócairean na’s milse na bhiodh iad air dhoigh eile. O muinntir ionmhuinn, am b’ail leibh bargan a dheanamh na’s saibhire na sin, Rom. viii. 32, “A thug Criosd dhuinn, agus maill ris-san gu saor na h-uile nithe.” Agus i Cor. iii. 22, 23. “Ma’se Pòl, no Apollos, no Cephas, no’n saoghal, no beatha, no bàs, no nithe ta lathair, na nithe ta ri teachd; is leibhse iad uile; agus is le Criosd sibhse; agus is le Dia Criosd.” Tha daoine an t-saoghail ag radh, cionnas a tha e tachairt g’um bheil sibh cho aoibhneach fuidh chroisean? Ann am freagrach d’an so, tha sinn ag radh—

(1.) Tha againn teisteas deadh choguis, ni a tha na ghnà chuilim dhuinn. Agus,

(2.) Tha ‘ar n-amhghairean uile teachd a mach a lamh ar n-Athair neamhaidh, agus o mheuraibh ar bràthair ionmhuinn, agus uime sin cha ruig sinn a leas a bhi fo’ eagal uatha, oir cha dean iad gu bràth dochunn dhuinn. Ma-dh’fhaodte gu’m bi sibh air ‘ur cuir ann am prìosan; ach ciod an umhaill? Cha bhi Simeon a bheag na’s miosa, ma ‘se Ioseph fear coimhead a phriosain. Cha bhi an deichnear phriomh aithrichean na’s miosa air son iad a bhi air an cuir ann am prìosan, a chionn gur iad a chuid bràithrean.

1. Cha’n ‘eil a h-aon a gheibh croisean Ioseiph, nach faigh iad a bheannachd maille riu; ‘se sin r’a radh, gheibh iad beannachadh Dhé ann am meadhon an cuid amhghairean: agus nach ‘eil an tioclac sin na’s leòir? Tha daoine an t-saoghail so a’ lionadh ar saic; ach am bheil fhios agaibh co leis? A muinntir ionmhuinn, bheireamsa cinnt dhuibh, nach ann le deadh shìol. Tha cuid a’ cuir a steach masluidhean agus fochaiid; cuid sealg, agus bagraidhean; cuid prìosanan agus fogradh; agus cuid crochadh ‘s ar cinn a chuir dhinn. Ann an so feumaidh iad stad, oir cha’n urrainn iad a dhol na’s fhaide. ‘Seadh, ma ta, ciod a shaoileas sibh de na ghnè shìol so?—Ach, a deir ‘ar n-Ioseph beannaichte, an d’ rinn sibh na’s urrainn duibh, O a nàmhde, agus nach urrainn duibh

an còrr a dheanamh? ‘Seadh, rinn, deir iadsan; cha’n urrainn sinn a dhòl na’s fhaide. ‘Seadh, deir Criosd, cuirdh mise làn do shìol seirbh ann an saic mo chlann féin; o’ na fhuair iad crois, bithidh aca mo ghràdh-sa agus mo bheannachd maillle ris. Agus ciod a shaoileas sibh dheth na sin? Tha mi a’ tabhairt dubhlan do’n t-saoghail gu léir a choimheas a dheanamh. Ciod a ni thu, a dhuine, le do bheagan airgiod? Na cuir-sa trioblaid ort féin gu bràth le sin, oir ni mi gu maith na’s leòir leis. Innsidh mi dhuibh dà fhocal air son sin.

(1.) A bhi gu mòr air grunn agus ann an eagal Dhé, is fearr e na’n oighreachd is fearr a tha fo’ na ghrian. Freasdal no grunn Dhe, air am bheil e toirt orra imeachd, ‘se is fearr; agus fàsaidh iad na’s fhear air, na ni daoine an t-saoghail so leis na nithe is fearr a tha aca gu sheilbheachadh.

(2.) An dara focal a tha agam ri innseadh dhuibh, ‘se so e, nach ‘eil aig bantrach bhochd ach beagan oladh ann an còrn, agus làn an dùirn a mhìn ann am baraille, aig nach bi ach mìr aran an diugh, agus an deigh sin bàsachadh am màireach: ‘s urrainn Dia a thoirt air an làn dùirn sin féin do mhìn, agus an drop oladh a dhòl fada, agus mairsinn fada; ‘seadh, cha’n urrainn e bhi air innseadh cia cho fad’ is a theid tròcair no seilbh bheag fuidh na chrois.

1. An treas ni a tha bràithrean Ioseiph a’ faotainn anns a bhargan, gu’m bheil e ‘g am paigheadh gu maith air son an t-saothair uile aig am bheil iad ann a sheirbhis no ‘na ghnothach. Nach ‘eil sin na thiodlaic oirdheire, Mata xix. 28, 29, “Gheibh iad a cheud uiread, agus seilbhidh iad a bheathe shiorruidh.” Ann an so tha ceud filte do dh’fhor thoil-inntinn anam anns a bheath so, agus caithrichean ‘us crùntean anns an t-saoghail a ta ri teachd; am feadh ‘sa tha daoine an t-saoghail so, mar gu’m b’eadh, a’ brùchdadh a mach dearbh fhallas an anam ann an teine a pheacaidh, a chum seirbhis an diabhoil a dheanamh: an deigh sin bheir e dhoibh ifrinn air son an saothair mu dheireadh. Ach tha ar Maighstir-ne a’ tabhairt d’a sheirbhisich féin làn an saic de na chruthneachd is fearr, agus airgiod ann am beòil an saic.—Am faigh sinn gu bràth cunntas dheth ar cuid stùpeanan, ar tighean creachte, agus ar fearann caillte? Tha sinn a’ smuaineachadh nach faigh, a deir daoine an t-saoghail so. ‘Seadh, ach cunntaidh ar Maighstir ruinn, agus paighidh e ‘n t-iomlan. Bheir e a cheud uiread, agus anns a chrioch a bheatha mhaireanach. Agus nach fheadh sinn a bhi gu maith dheth? Cha leig ar n-Ioseiph bean-naichte le a chàirdean agus a chuid bràithrean féin call sam bith fhulang; ach paighidh se iad gu maith air son an saothair. Cha bhi an call uile aig an robh sibh ann ‘ur fulangas air son Chriosd, na aon sgillinn as ‘ur sporanaibh. Bheir e cunntas dhuibh air son an tigh, an spréidh, &c.; ‘seadh, gus an sgillinn mu dheireadh, agus cha’n àicheadh se a bheag sam bith dheth.

2. An ni a gheibh sluagh Dhé, is e, cuireadh nuadh gu theachd agus tuille fhaotainn, mar leasachadh ris na fhuair iad roimhe, a

chum’s gu’m feud iad, mar is cleachdach leinn a radh, an stoc-a chumail suas, agus call droch fheill a bhacadh. Deanaibh urnuigh, deir ar Tighearn, “Tabhair dhuinn an diugh ar n-aran lathail.” “Beathaich mi le lòn a bhios iomchuidh air mo shon,” deir Agur, Gna. xxx. 8. Nach ‘eil so na nì misneachail nach gabhadh ‘ar Maighstir gu bràth sgìos do bhi tabhairt, mur gabhadh sinne sgìos do bhi ‘g iarraidh, agus le sin obair a thabhairt da? Tha daoine an t-saoghail so ag radh, gu’m bheil a leithid sin do dhuine gle thrioblaideach: tha iad a’ tabhairt da aon nì an diugh, agus nì eile an ath latha, agus gidheadh tha e do ghnà a’ teachd a ris. Ach tha ar Maighstir-ne a’ tabhairt dhuinn tiodhlac as ùir, agus cuireadh as ùir gu theachd a ris agus tuille fhaotainn. O ach tha so na nì misneachail: Bheir e dhuinn seilbh agus crois air uachdar, a dh’fhaodas oibreachadh air ar cridhe, agus a bhi dhuinn na chuir-eadh gu teachd agus tuille uidheam agus leasachadh fhaotainn a mach as a thigh tasgaidh. Tha na h-uile beantuin agus deuchainn a gheibh sinn as ùir, na cheangal air bhuir son gu theachd air ‘ur n-ais a ris, agus tuille lòn fhaotainn air son na slighe. Nach ‘eil am barrachd so na’s leòir air son a bhargain?

‘Seadh ma ta air son feum cleachdaidh, Ciod a tha sibhse ag radh ri aobhar Chriosd? ‘Nis, a mhuinntir ionmhuinn, nach fheud gearan dubhach a bhi ann an Alba an diugh? Ciod a tha cuir air an Tighearn do thaobh a phobuill? oir ma tha muinntir sam bith a dh’fhaodas a bhi air an gairm na’m bràithrean do Joseph, feum-aidh gur iad an dream as ro-ghairge deiligeadh riu; an luchd bròin agus guil, a’s mò ghaire a tha air an laimhseachadh. Ach innsidh mise dhuibh, nach dean na’s lugh’ an gnothach, gu’r seann pheacaidhean agus dhroch gniomharadh anns an àm a chaidh seachad a thoirt a dh’ionnsuidh ar n-aire, a rinn sinn ann an aghaidh ar n-Isòseiph neamhaidh Criosd Iosa, agus sinn irioslach-adh air an son. Ach an uair a dh’rioslaicheas Dia a shluagh féin leis a chrois, an sin cuiridh seuiread do dh’astair eatorra’ fuidh an cuid seilbhean, is a bha riamh aca fuidh na chrois. Cunntaidh Criosd suas uile chroisean a shluagh féin, a chum am paigheadh air ais le sólasaibh: ach cunntaidh e suas croisean an t-saoghail a chum an dùblachadh. ‘An sin ma ta, a mhuinntir ionmhuinn, tha mi a’ smuaineachadh gu’m bheil luach cumhnant do ghnà na’s fearr air aithneachadh fuidh na chrois; agus aig an àm sin mar an ceudna, gu’m bheil luach tròcair na’s mò air a h-aithneachadh; oir tha do ghnà barrachd eadar ar stoc-ne agus stoc an t-saoghail. Mar a ta ar lòn agus ar seilbhean spioradail a’ teachd o chùram agus ullachadh ar Maighstir beannaichte, mar sin tha ar seilbhean aimsireil mar an ceudna. Ge nach bi ann ach dinneir no suipeir, bi’dh cùram air a ghabhail deth. ‘Seadh ma ta, cunntaibh thairis bhuir barrachd fuidh na chrois; agus cumaibh suas bhuir cridhe, agus seaibh ri’r dleasdanas, agus leanaibh air aghaidh ann an slighe an Tighearna. Esan aig am bheil lamhan glan, agus cridhe neo-chiontach, fàsaidh e na’s treise agus na’s treise. Bithidh

bhur saic fathast air an lionadh, oir is e Ioseph an t-uachdaran. Biodh bhur cor mar is àill, bithidh bhur cuid saic làn co fhad ‘sa tha esan na uachdaran. ‘Se an nì mu dheireadh a thug mi fainear ‘o na steigh-theagaig so,

Teag. 4, Gu’m bheil so na leasan neamhaidh a theagaig Spiorad Dhé d’a shluagh féin, gu’m b’àill leis iad a bhi cùramach gu foghlum uile cheumana agus uidhe a fhrithealaidhean agus a dheiligidhean d’an taobh.

Bha sea ceuman’ do dheilligeadh Ioseiph do thaobh a bhràithrean.

1. Bha gach focal air son àm àraidh na bu ghairege na cheile. Ma dh’fhaodte gu’m bheil thu cosmhail ri buaidh a bhi aig an trioblaid ort, agus gu’m bheil thu a’ teachd a dh’ionnsuidh Dhé le do chroisibh agus le do chor, an dùil ni-eigin do lasachadh fhaotainn; ach an àite sin, gu’m bheil thu a’ faotainn na’s mò do bhriathraibh geura na roimhe. Shaoil le bean Chanaan gu’m faigheadh i an ðiabhol air a chuir a mach a h-inghinn aig a ceud theachd; ach ann an àite sin, ‘se fhuair i so, “Cha’n ‘eil e iomchuidh aran na cloinne a thilgeadh a chum na’n con.” Guidheam oirbh, faicibh gu’n gabh sibh creidimh gu’r crois a leughadh. Dh’innis mi dhuibh gu’n do ghabh an Eaglais anns an tritheamh caibidil de Leabhar an Tuiridh, eas-creideamh gu a crois a leughadh; agus an sin cha do leugh i focal gu ceart riamh; ach tha bhean bhochd so a’ gabhail creideamh a chum a crois a leughadh; agus an sin tha chuis a soirbheachadh leatha. Tha mòr ghràdh ann an cridhe Chriosd fuidh a bhriathra garg agus fo ghruaim a ghnùis, gu labhairt le urram, do ainm naomh. Tha aig Chriosd do ghàna cridhe leaghta agus innigh truais fuidh a briathra’ is geura. Tha fhis agam gu maith gu’n do labhair e mòran do chainnt gharg ri Alba o na thòisich a chrois; ach cha’n ‘eil fhis agam ma tha cuimhne mhaith agaibhse air.

2. Tha Ioseph a’ dol o bhriathraibh gu gniomhra’ le a chuid bràithrean, agus tha a ghniomhara’ cho geur is cho garg ‘sa bha a bhriathran.

3. Na h-uile meadhon dheth an d’rinn iad feum a chum combnadh gu iad féin a shaoradh as na troiblaidean so, ‘sann a dh’fhill iad iad féin na’s mò annta, agus thug iad air an là a theachd gu bhi na’s gruaimich air an làmh. O am bheil sibh a’ creidsinn gu’m bi crioch troiblaidean agus deuchainnean nuadh na’n saic làn? Cha’n ‘eil teagamh agam nach bi e mar sin, na’n tigeadh a chuis aon uair gu so leis, gu’m bitheadh gach aon againn aig eìgheach a mach, Tha mise ciontach, tha mise ciontach. Ach mo thruaighe! Cha’n ‘eil sinn fathast aig a so le’r cuis.

4. Bithidh Ioseph mar-aon a’ guil agus a’ ceangal a bhràithrean aig an aon àm. Ciod a shaoileas sibhse do nàdur caomh-chridheach ‘ar Tighearn, aig an àm cheudna gu’n ceangail e agus gu’n guil e o’s cionn a bhràithrean. Tha uiread do ghaol aig Chriosd d’a shluagh féin, is nach urrainn e a bhi as an eugmhais; agus tha fuath aig d’an cuid peacaidhean co mòr, is nach urrainn e a leigeil

da an sgrios; agus uime sin feumaidh e bhi mar-aon ‘gan ceangal agus a’ bròn os cionn a bhràithrean aig an aon àm. O ach tha mòran do ghliocas spioradail, do sholus, agus do thuigse gu bhi air iarraidh ann an Criosduidh, a chum tabhairt fainear Chriosd a’ guil agus a’ ceangal, a’ lotadh ‘sa ‘leigheas a shluaigh féin; gu bhi tabhairt fainear a làthairachd, agus eusbhuidh a làthairachd, a dhol air falbh agus ath-philltinn a ris. Tha m’anam a’ leantunn gu dian as do dheighe; ‘se sin a dhol air falbh; ach chum do dheas lamh suas mi. Am an so tha e bhi air làthair air a thoirt fà’near.

1. Bu chòir do mheud agus do fharsuingeachd na’n seilbhean, a tha Ioseph a’ buileachadh air a bhràithrean, a bhi air an cumail air chuimhne, mar-aon an deadh shiol ann an saic, agus an t-airgid ann am beòil an cuid saic; ‘se sin, am barrachd, no cho maith ris a bhargan. O ach tha sinne fad air dheireadh, a thaobh fior shòlas ar seilbhean; agus tha Dia ag iarraidh mòr ghloir uainne, ann am feum ceart a dheanamh de’ na seilbhean so, do bhrigh ‘s gu’m bheil sinne n-ar droch luchd cumail air chuimhne, meudachd agus farsuingeachd cridhe Chriosd, agus na’n tròcairean a tha e a’ buileachadh oirnne.

Anns an àite mu dheireadh, criochan mòr agus maith Ioseiph, agus a rùntean a bha na shealladh, ann a uile bhuntainn agus dheiligdhean r’a bhràithrean, gu’n deanamh uile sona agus urramach, bu chòir dha’n so a bhi air a chumail air chuimhne.—Ciod a tha Criosd a’ deanamh r’a shluagh, ‘nuair a tha e a’ ceangal orra uallach air muin uallach, agus crois air uachdair seilbh: ‘seadh, aon chrois air uachdar crois eile? Ciod a tha e a’ deanamh riu? ‘Seadh, tha e ‘gan snaidheadh, a chum is gu’m bi iad air an deasachadh air son oighreachd na’n naoimh ann an soillse agus ann an glòir, a chum as gu’m bi iad air an deanamh na’n soithichean a thròcair, air an ullachadh le a ghràs a chum glòir.—Agus nach fiu so bhur n-aire agus bhur cuimhneachan?

‘Nis, a mhuiintir ionmhuinn, ‘nuair a tha bhur crois air a’ ceangal air ‘ur druim le lamh bhur n-Ioseiph caomh-chridheach, am bheil bhur cuibhrichean spioradail air am fuasgladh, agus bhur cridheachan air an cuir am farsuingeachd? Am bheil sibh a’ faotainn saorsainn gu urnuigh? Am bheil sibh a’ faotainn saorsa gu eìgheachd, agus bhur n-anam a dhòrtadh a mach do Dhia? Am bheil sibh a’ faotainn saorsa gu bròn a dheanamh, no gu guil os-cionn an eucoir ‘san dochair a rinneadh air Criosd? Ma ‘se is gu’m bheil a chùis mar sin leibhse, feudaidh e bhi na dheadh uidheamachadh a chum bhur saic a lionadh. Uime sin, aidichibh bhur n-aingidheachd, agus bithibh gu mòr mu làmhan Ioseiph; oir cha’n urrainn sibh a bhi beò as eugmhais-san. O bitheadh faduidheachd oirbh air son bhur cuid saic a bhi làn; agus saothraichibh air son dorlach do dheadh shiol fhaotainn annta, agus a chum lòn fhaotainn air an t-slighe; agus bithidh agaibh beatha oirdhearc dheth; agus is saibhir a bhitheas bhur seilbh.—Amen.