In Scotland, where the wild wind blows
Across the Highland moor
And where the famous thistle grows
Around the cotter’s door;
A very quaint, half-witted boy
Lived with an aged dame:
Her only charge, her only joy—
And Yeddie was his name.
He used to go about the place
So very unconcern’d,
In fellowship with Him, whose grace
And goodness he had learn’d.
The peace and meekness He imparts
Poor Yeddie’s spirit found;
His simple manner won the hearts
Of all the neighbours round.
But few could tell how he became
Of such true peace possess’d,
Or how it was, the precious Name
Of Jesus gave him rest.
It may be that the aged dame
Had told him of the Lord,
And spoken of His blessed Name,
While sitting at her board.
But there he was in that dark place
For ever shining bright,
A living witness of the grace
Of Him who gave him light.
The light and love of Jesus shined
In that poor simple heart,
And round his young affections twined,
Where no one else had part.
It pleased the Lord, in tender love,
To save poor Yeddie’s soul;
‘Twas He who drew his thoughts above,
And He who made him whole;
And who in mercy did impart
(At home, or at the “kirk,”)
The child-like faith to rest his heart
On Jesus, and His work!
Though Yeddie seem’d a witless boy,
Whose intellect was dim;
Yet Jesus was His only joy.
And much he talk’d with Him.
How rich the grace that stoops so low,
To pick up meanest things!
To reach a sinner in his woe—
It passeth thrones and things!
The world hath, in its wisdom shewn
Its ignorance of grace,
Nor will confess, that blood alone
Can sin’s deep stain efface.
To seek the sinner, lost in sin,
And not to cure the “whole,”
Did Jesus come:—to save, and win,
And wash the guilty soul.
No wonder, then, that He had shined
In Yeddie’s heart like this,
And in His mercy caused his mind
To be the seat of bliss.
Poor Yeddie wander’d far and wide,
His spirit full of glee;
And always walking by his side
Did Jesus seem to be.
With Yeddie oft the children walk’d,
And laughingly would say,
“Poor simple Yeddie often talk’d
With ghosts upon the way.”
But he, in tones so soft and meek,
Those merry boys would tell,
“Wi’ Him we canna see. I speak—
I’m talkin’ wi’ Himsel’!”
With that remark he turn’d away—
And in his native twang,
Said, “Dinna mak’ me speak to-day,
For wi’ Himsel’ I gang.”
By which he meant the Lord, who died
To save his soul from hell;
And so the guileless lad replied,
I’m talkin’ wi’ Himsel’!”