ARDLUI:
THE PULPIT ROCK.
I.
In sooth a goodly temple, walled behind
With crag precipitous of granite grey,
And by green birches corniced, which the wind
Sowed o'er the rim in random rich display,
And for a roof the azure-curtained hall,
Light-floating cloud, and broad benignant ray,
And organed by the hum of waterfall,
And plash of bright waves in the gleaming bay.
And here's the pulpit, this huge granite mass
Erect, frost-sundered from the mossy crown,
And there the people sit on turfy grass,
And here the fervid preacher thunders down;
Go kneel beneath Saint Paul's proud dome, and say
If God be nearer there, or here to day!
II.
Huge Bens, green glens, hoar waterfalls, blue skies
Belaud who will; there's something nobler here,
A thing that being seen with thoughtful eyes
Types Scotland's strength in lines more sharp and clear.
Let others poise the pictured dome, and pour
Through long-drawn aisles the curious-chanted prayer,
With various beauty pave the figured floor,
And with rich clouds of perfume load the air;
But, Scotland, thou, when meddling priests would bind
Thine unbought lips in courtly form to pray,
Thy temple in the open moor did'st find,
Thy pulpit in the granite boulder grey;
Accept the sign, and point with sturdy pride
To thy York Minster on Loch Lomond's side!
