An' a' the fleecy flocks that stray Alexander Laing. BARCLAY OF URY. AMONG the earliest converts to the doctrines of Friends in Scotland was Barclay of Ury, an old and distinguished soldier, who had fought under Gustavus Adolphus in Germany. As a Quaker, he became the object of persecution and abuse at the hands of the magistrates and the populace. UP the streets of Aberdeen, By the kirk and college green, Close behind him, close beside, Flouted him the drunken churl, Prompt to please her master; And the begging carlin, late Yet, with calm and stately mien, And, to all he saw and heard, Came a troop with broadswords swinging, Loose and free and froward; Quoth the foremost, "Ride him down! But from out the thickening crowd 66 Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!" And the old man at his side Scarred and sunburned darkly, Who with ready weapon bare, Cried aloud: "God save us, "Nay, I do not need thy sword, Passive to his holy will, Trust I in my Master still, Even though he slay me. Ty c Pledges of thy love and faith, Marvelled much that henchman bold, “Woe's the day!" he sadly said, With a slowly shaking head, 66 And a look of pity; Ury's honest lord reviled, Mock of knave and sport of child, In his own good city! "Speak the word, and, master mine, Smiting through their midst we'll teach To these boyish prancers!" "Marvel not, mine ancient friend, "Is the sinful servant more "Give me joy that in his name I can bear, with patient frame, All these vain ones offer; While for them He suffereth long, Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, With few friends to greet me, Than when reeve and squire were seen, Riding out from Aberdeen, With bared heads to meet me. "When each good wife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as I passed her door; And the snooded daughter, Through her casement glancing down, Smiled on him who bore renown From red fields of slaughter. "Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest For the full day-breaking!" So the Laird of Ury said, Towards the Tolbooth prison, Where, through iron grates, he heard Preach of Christ arisen! * * * John G. Whittier. Aberfeldy. THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. CHORUS. - Bonny lassie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go ? Bonny lassie, will ye go Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, The little birdies blithely sing, While o'er their heads the hazels hing, In the birks of Aberfeldy. The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's, |