Prayers Written at Vailima | Page 6

us to see the beam that is in our own eye, and blind us to the mote that is in our brother's. Let us feel our offences with our hands, make them great and bright before us like the sun, make us eat them and drink them for our diet. Blind us to the offences of our beloved, cleanse them from our memories, take them out of our mouths for ever. Let all here before Thee carry and measure with the false balances of love, and be in their own eyes and in all conjunctures the most guilty. Help us at the same time with the grace of courage, that we be none of us cast down when we sit lamenting amid the ruins of our happiness or our integrity: touch us with fire from the altar, that we may be up and doing to rebuild our city: in the name and by the method of him in whose words of prayer we now conclude.
FOR SELF-FORGETFULNESS
LORD, the creatures of thy hand, thy disinherited children, come before Thee with their incoherent wishes and regrets: Children we are, children we shall be, till our mother the earth hath fed upon our bones. Accept us, correct us, guide us, thy guilty innocents. Dry our vain tears, wipe out our vain resentments, help our yet vainer efforts. If there be any here, sulking as children will, deal with and enlighten him. Make it day about that person, so that he shall see himself and be ashamed. Make it heaven about him, Lord, by the only way to heaven, forgetfulness of self, and make it day about his neighbours, so that they shall help, not hinder him.
FOR RENEWAL OF JOY
WE are evil, O God, and help us to see it and amend. We are good, and help us to be better. Look down upon thy servants with a patient eye, even as Thou sendest sun and rain; look down, call upon the dry bones, quicken, enliven; recreate in us the soul of service, the spirit of peace; renew in us the sense of joy.
End of the Project Gutenberg eText Prayers Written at Vailima
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A Lowden Sabbath Morn by Robert Louis Stevenson?Scanned and proofed by David Price, [email protected]
A Lowden Sabbath Morn
I
THE clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells?Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells,?Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells,?Sounds far an' near,?An' through the simmer kintry tells?Its tale o' cheer.
II
An' noo, to that melodious play,?A deidly awn the quiet sway -?A' ken their solemn holiday,?Bestial an' human,?The singin' lintie on the brae,?The restin' plou'man.
III
He, mair than a' the lave o' men,?His week completit joys to ken;?Half-dressed, he daunders out an' in,?Perplext wi' leisure;?An' his raxt limbs he'll rax again?Wi' painfu' pleesure.
IV
The steerin' mither strang afit?Noo shoos the bairnies but a bit;?Noo cries them ben, their Sinday shuit?To scart upon them,?Or sweeties in their pouch to pit,?Wi' blessin's on them.
V
The lasses, clean frae tap to taes,?Are busked in crunklin' underclaes;?The gartened hose, the weel-filled stays,?The nakit shift,?A' bleached on bonny greens for days,?An' white's the drift.
VI
An' noo to face the kirkward mile?The guidman's hat o' dacent style,?The blackit shoon, we noon maun fyle?As white's the miller:?A waefu' peety tae, to spile?The warth o' siller.
VII
Our Marg'et, aye sae keen to crack,?Douce-stappin' in the stoury track,?Her emeralt goun a' kiltit back?Frae snawy coats,?White-ankled, leads the kirkward pack?Wi' Dauvit Groats.
VIII
A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks,?A' spiled wi' lyin' by for weeks,?The guidman follows closs, an' cleiks?The sonsie misses;?His sarious face at aince bespeaks?The day that this is.
IX
And aye an' while we nearer draw?To whaur the kirkton lies alaw,?Mair neebours, comin' saft an' slaw?Frae here an' there,?The thicker thrang the gate, an' caw?The stour in air.
X
But hark! the bells frae nearer clang?To rowst the slaw, their sides they bang?An' see! black coats a'ready thrang?The green kirkyaird;?And at the yett, the chestnuts spang?That brocht the laird.
XI
The solemn elders at the plate?Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state:?The practised hands as gash an' great?As Lords o' Session;?The later named, a wee thing blate?In their expression.
XII
The prentit stanes that mark the deid,?Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read;?Syne way a moraleesin' heid,?An then an' there?Their hirplin' practice an' their creed?Try hard to square.
XIII
It's here our Merren lang has lain,?A wee bewast the table-stane;?An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane;?An' further ower,?The mither's brithers, dacent men!?Lie a' the fower.
XIV
Here the guidman sall bide awee?To dwall amang the deid; to see?Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e;?Belike to hear?Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee?On fancy's ear.
XV
Thus, on the day o' solemn things,?The bell that in the steeple swings?To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings?Its walcome screed;?An' just a wee thing nearer brings?The quick an' deid.
XVI
But noo the bell is ringin' in;?To tak their places, folk begin;?The minister himsel' will shune?Be up the gate,?Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin?An' man's estate.
XVII
The tunes are up -