The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

Enough for me to have lived to see
This glorious day, and its godly work,
When our nobles have buried their ancient feuds,
And our merchants have left their gains and goods
To sign our bond in the Greyfriars' Kirk.

Truly my heart leaped up in me, while
Douglas and Hamilton, Athole and Mar,
Pressed on the heels of Montrose and Argyll,
And Lindsay and Lauderdale walked down the aisle
With Kennedy, Cunningham, Scott, and Carr.

Of all our Houses of ancient fame
Only the Gordons held them back;
Hume and Maxwell and Elliot came,
And Stewart and Bruce would have deemed it shame
If men of the Royal blood were slack.

Few of the Chiefs of the clans were there;
Clanronald, Macdonald, the Chisholm, Locheil,
All lay close 'mong their mountains bare;
But they count not for much in a State affair,
Unless there be cattle to raid and steal.

Mackintosh sat by the fire and drank,
Cluny was busy about his game,
Seaforth was playing the Lewsmen a prank,
And all of them truly were papists rank,
While hardly one could have signed his name.

We looked not for them, and little was lost
That they were not there, for they always bring
Quarrels with them as they brag and boast,
And dirks too are drawn, and swords are crossed,
And tongues that babbled begin to sting.

There was not room in the kirk for more
Than a tithe of those who were fain to write;
So they spread the sheets on the gravestones hoar,
All the way out to the kirkyard door,
And many who signed there wept outright.

590

Oh what a sight it was, all the land,
Gentle and simple, humble and high,
Setting their seal to our Covenant band,
That vowed the people, with heart and hand,
To stand by the Cause and the Kirk, or die.

I pricked my finger, and dipped the pen
In a drop of my own heart's blood to write:
It was but a drop, but it pledged me then
That every drop in each throbbing vein
Should freely be given to win the fight.

Of course, I know there were not a few
Who felt no glow of our patriot fire,
Who cared not for freedom or truth or right,
But loved the darkness, and shunned the light,
For the lust of gain was their one desire.

Stoutly they clave, like the maw of the grave,
To the wealth of the Monks, and the Bishop's lands,
And all the pillage that did avenge
The ills of the past with ills as strange,
When they plundered the Kirk as they broke her bands.

All they heeded was wealth of gain,
All they dreaded was loss of gear;
But their swords are good if their hearts are vain,
And we'll need them all in the stress and strain
That will try our mettle this coming year.

God grant that they may stand fast that day;
But some are ambitious, and some are proud,
And some are fain just to get their own way;
And there may be a Judas. Who can say
What kind of folk may be hid in a crowd?

Is it right to join hands with them, in view
Of their alien mind. Were not Gideon's band,
The gallant three hundred, staunch and true,
Better by far than a motley crew
Who care for nought but the teind and land?

Some of God's servants will have it so,
For they say He can save by many or few,
And they blame me as one who is fain to go,
By worldly policy. Yet I know
We shall need every man to carry it through.

But the people are stirred, for they all have heard
Of the quarrel 'twixt King and Parliament,
And their hearts are hot, and they will not yield
To Charles or Laud, till, on stricken field,
One side or other its force has spent.

I am no soldier, and I shrink
From battle and blood as things abhorred;
Yet now that we stand on the deadly brink,
No more may I counsel peace, but think
Of the Kirk and its only King and Lord.

591

Where the Spirit of God is, men are free;
Where the spirit of truth is, men are strong;
And strong and free shall our country be
When the storm is past, which we plainly see,
Laden with thunder, now trooping along.