RALPH ERSKINE.
Faith has for its foundation broad
A stable rock on which I stand,
The truth and faithfulness of God:
All other grounds are sinking sand.
My frames and feelings ebb and flow;
And when my faith depends on them,
It fleets and staggers to and fro,
And dies amidst the dying frame.
That faith is surely most unstay’d,
Its stag’ring can’t be counted strange
That builds its hope of lasting aid
On things that ev’ry moment change.
But could my faith lay all its load
On Jesus’ everlasting name,
Upon the righteousness of God,
And divine truth that’s still the same;
Could I believe what God has spoke,
Rely on His unchanging love,
And cease to grasp at fleeting smoke,
No changes would my mountain move.
But when, how soon the frame’s away,
And comfortable feelings fail:
So soon my faith falls in decay,
And unbelieving doubts prevail.
This proves the charge of latent vice,
And plain my faith’s defects may show
I built the house on thawing ice
That tumbles with the melting snow.
When divine smiles in sight appear
And I enjoy the heav’nly gale;
When wind and tide, and all is fair,
I dream my faith shall never fail:
My heart will false conclusions draw,
That strong my mountain will remain:
That in my faith there’s not a flaw,
I’ll never, never doubt again.
I think the only rest I take,
Is God’s unfailing word and name:
And fancy not my faith so weak,
As e’er to trust a fading frame.
But ah! by sudden turns I see
My lying heart’s fallacious guilt,
And that my faith, not firm in me,
On sinking sand was partly built:
For lo! when warming beams are gone,
And shadows fall; alas! ’tis odd,
I cannot wait the rising sun,
I cannot trust a hiding God.
So much my faith’s affiance seems
Its life from fading joys to bring,
That when I lose the dying streams,
I cannot trust the living spring.
When drops of comfort quickly dry’d,
And sensible enjoyments fail;
When cheering apples are deny’d,
Then doubts instead of faith prevail.
But why, though food be snatch’d from me,
Should I distrust the glorious root,
And still afront the standing tree,
By trusting more to falling fruit?
The smallest trials may evince
My faith unfit to stand the shock,
That more depends on fleeting sense,
Than on the fix’d, eternal Rock.
The safest ark when floods arise,
Is stable truth that changes not;
How weak’s my faith, that more relies
On feeble sense’s floating boat!
For when the fleeting frame is gone,
I straight my state in question call;
I drop and sink in deeps anon,
As if my frame were all in all.
But though I miss the pleasing gale,
And heav’n withdraw the charming glance;
Unless Jehovah’s oath can fail,
My faith may keep its countenance.
The frame of nature shall decay,
Time-changes break her rusty chains;
Yea, heav’n and earth shall pass away;
But faith’s foundation firm remains.
Heav’n’s promises so fix’dly stand,
Engrav’d with an immortal pen,
In great IMMANUEL’S mighty hand,
All hell’s attempts to raze are vain.
Did faith with none but truth advise,
My steady soul would move no more
Than stable hills when tempests rise,
Or solid rocks when billows roar.
But when my faith the counsel hears
Of present sense and reason blind,
My wav’ring spirit then appears
A feather toss’d with ev’ry wind.
Lame legs of faith unequal crook;
Thus mine, alas! unevenly stand,
Else I would trust my stable Rock,
Not fading frames and feeble sand:
I would, when dying comforts fly,
As much as when they present were,
Upon my living joy rely—
Help, Lord, for here I daily err.—Gospel Sonnets.
Dr. Macdonald and Locheil.
THE following interesting anecdote is taken from The Apostle of the North (Dr. Macdonald, Ferintosh):—”Amiable though he was, and prone to too great facility, he could, when occasion required hold his ground very firmly, and rise superior to all the influence which might be employed to sway him. During one of his tours in Lochaber, he was invited by Locheil to spend a night in his mansion. Besides the clergyman, there was a large party of guests. Between nine and ten o’clock, card playing having been proposed Mr. Macdonald at once rose, and going up to Locheil, asked him whether he was to hold family worship. “Oh, no,” he said, “I cannot think of that to-night.” “And will you not allow me to engage in worship for you?” “Not to-night,” his host replied, “it would give offence to my visitors.” “If not,” the minister said, “I must go away; for I cannot remain where my Master is denied.” Locheil, anxious that there should be no spot on his Highland hospitality, but quite resolved against worship, urged him to remain. But he was quite as unyielding as his host, and left the house at dead of night, and walked several miles ere he reached a place of shelter.”