There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?
Oppressed with toil, and parched with thirst, On Sinai's burning sands,
The tribes of Israel slowly moved,
And drooped his fainting bands;
They thought on Egypt's fertile fields,
Her richly watered plains,
And while they mourned her vanished joys, Forgot her galling chains.
Against the Lord with rebel souls,
And impious mouths they cried, His watchful care their hearts disowned, His grace their tongues denied; Against His servant Moses, too, With forward lips they chode, And vowed no more in Araby To make their drear abode.
Before the Lord their leader bent, And claimed His promised aid; "What shall I with this people do?" 'Twas thus he loudly prayed: "Thy long-tried love, Thy present care, Their hearts and lips disown;
And me, Thy servant, for Thy sake, They seem prepared to stone!"
"Go boldly on," the Lord replied, "Thy rod take in thy hand; Lo! I on Horeb's lofty brow Before thee take my stand:
Chur na cairdean le cabhag an eachaibh air doigh; Cuid a'ruith, cuid a' marcachd a ghlacadh na h-òigh : Bha ruagadh, a's réiseadh, thar raointibh a's shliabh, Ach sealladh do'n òg-bhean cha'n fhacaidh iad riamh ! Cho treubhach an gaol, a's cho gaisgeil am blàr, Am facas riamh leithid tighearn òg Lochinbhàr!
Ro sgìth, a's tràisgte leis an teas, Am fàsach theith Shinài, Bha treubhan Israeil 'gluasad sgìth Fo mhighean a's fo chràdh; Air sògh na h-Eiphit chuimhnich iad, 'S a sraithean torach, buan,
Ach dhearmaid iad an cor san robh, Fo thàir 's fo dhimeas cruaidh.
An ceannairc dh'éirich iad
An aghaidh àithne Dhé,
'S a chùram chuir iad an neo-shuim, 'S le 'm bilean dh'àicheidh e;
An aghaidh Mhaois rinn monbhor mòr, A's dhiùlt iad strìochdadh dha,
A's bhagair fòs gu'm pilleadh iad Do thigh na daors' gun dàil.
An làthair Dhé shleuchd Maois a sios, A's dh'aslaich còmhnadh uaith';
"Ciod ris a' phobull so ni mi?"
B'e sud a ghlaodh san uair:
"Do ghràdh 's do chùram 'tha cho fial Le'm bilean dh'àicheidh fòs, A's ormsa, t-òglach, air do sgàth Rinn tàir a's bagradh mòr!”
"Gu dàna imich," arsa Dia,
"'S an t-slat thoir leat a'd' làimh; 'S air mullach Horeib romhad shuas Bidh mise dlùth 's an àm:
There smite the rock, and from its side A limpid stream shall flow, Which shall, to this rebellious race, My power and presence show."
The prophet rose, he onward went, To Horeb's mount he came;
And bade the people mark the might Of Him they dared to blame:
He turned him round, he raised his rod— A breathless pause ensued—
While pale with fear, and mute with awe, The tribes at distance viewed.
He struck the rock, a rushing sound Of water met the ear;
The mountain yawned, and forth it flowed, A streamlet cool and clear;
The people drank, their souls revived, And round the mountain's base
They prayed that God would still forgive His Israel's contrite race.
"That Rock was Christ," the Apostle says, And from His side there flows
A stream which cheers the thirsty soul, And life and health bestows; Let all who faint, in Him their hope, In Him their safety see,
And learn that to each longing heart
The healing fount is free.
"That Rock was Christ!" Proclaim the news!
Proclaim it far and wide!
His grace still rolls a glorious flood,
A never-failing tide:
And as it rolls, its murmurs deep
This sweet assurance give,
That all without a price may drink
And all who drink shall live.
A' charraig buail, a's sruthaidh 'nuas Bho taobh an t-uisg' gu luath, A nochdas dhoibhsan tha cho reasg' Mo chumhachd mòr 's mo bhuaidh."
Am fàidhe dh'éirich, a's gu grad Gu Horeb chaidh e suas,
'S dh'iarr orra sealltuinn ris an Ti Air an d'rinn iad dìmeas cruaidh : Thionndaidh riutha 's thog an t-slat- Tha iad 'n an tosd gach aon- Le geilt a's ball-chrith tha gun smid Na treubhan ud faraon.
A' charraig bhuail a's chualas fuaim An uisg a' tighinn gu cas,
An sliabh rinn fosgladh 's ruith a mach An sruthan fionnar, bras;
Am pobull dh'òl, 's dh'ath-bheothaich iad, 'S mu'n cuairt air bonn an t-sléibh Tha 'n éigh ri Dia gu maith gach beud, A's olc a rinn iad féin.
"B'i charraig Criosd," tha Pòl ag inns', 'S a ruith a sìos bho 'thaobh Tha sruth a chuireas casg air ìot', 'S a léighseas bho gach gaoid: 'S gach neach 'tha fann le dòchas gann, Gheibh tearmunn ann an Criosd; Oir do gach cridhe truagh fo thart Bidh e 'na thaic' gu sior.
"B'i 'charraig Criosd," 's e'n sgeul' tha fior, A's éigh e 'm fad 's an cian! Mar thuil tha 'ghràs a ghnàth a' ruith Gu pailt air feadh gach iall:
'S na chùrsa tha e cur an céill
Le dearbhachd, do chloinn-daoin', Gun luach an diol gu'm faod iad òl,
'S na dh'òlas gheibh iad saors'.
Our Father! Such the tender name, By which a child of sin and shame To Thee for mercy sues:
Than earthly father far more dear, Thou hear'st our prayer, nor dost the tear Of penitence refuse.
From highest heaven, thy dwelling-place, Thou mak'st the brightness of thy face On all thy saints to shine: Alike the evil and the good Depend for life, for light, for food, On the behest divine.
Thy name be hallowed! Saints above, And holy angels, sing the love
Which God to man displays: And, oh! shall man himself be found Remiss to echo back the sound
Of gratitude and praise?
Thy kingdom come. From east to west, From north to south, the tidings blest Of thy dominion fly:
May Jew and Gentile form one state Of brotherhood below, and wait Thy glorious reign on high.
Thy will be done. In weal and woe, When thou dost strike or heal the blow, Let man submissive bend:
And still on earth with true delight Obey thy word, as angels bright In heaven their service lend.
Give us this day our daily bread, Not as the Hebrews, who were fed With angels' food, and died: But with the mortal food we eat, Our souls be with immortal meat To endless life supplied.
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