Lo, the righteous are taken and the merciful brought home;
Darkness gathers fast around us, ‘twould become us well to
mourn.
Mourn—for cedars fair and comely, blasted in their verdure
green.
Ah! the waste they leave behind them in this wilderness of sin.
Mourn—for gaps in Zion’s bulwarks which are widening day
by day,
And the walls which once were glorious crumbling down into
decay.
And the precious sons of Zion taken to eternal rest,
Truly happy are the children thus to be for ever blessed.
*This poem was sent to us for publication. It is the composition of the late gracious Miss Mary Mackintosh, some of whose poetical pieces have appeared in the Magazine. Kenny Mackenzie whose promising career was cut short by death, left pleasant memories behind him. An obituary appeared in the Magazine, iv. 148.—Editor.
Kenny’s place with us is vacant; pleasant was his life while here:
His the kindly word of comfort and the drooping heart to cheer.
Bright his smile to cheer the mourner, thoughts diffusing
fragrance sweet.
‘Twas his joy to lay soul-trophies at his loving Saviour’s feet.
Oh! unsearchable the wisdom, giving pain our wounds to heal,
With each pang He gives His children is His tenderness revealed.
Lord restore the walls of Zion; raise up Jacob, he is small.
Leave us not without a remnant on thy holy name to call.
For the Bond-maid’s sons are rampant but the sons of promise
few;
We resemble Mount Gilboa languishing for want of dew.
Like the gleanings of the vintage not a cluster to behold;
We may wail with Jeremiah with sorrow: dim is now the gold†
Leave us not our hearts to harden under dispensations great;
Lest death’s messenger will call us when repentance is too late.
Grant us grace to be submissive under each recurring loss;
Would you wear a crown with Jesus meekly learn to bear His
Cross.—Mary Mackintosh.