Janet Hamilton

1795-1873 / Scotland

Gran'Faither At Cam'slang

He donn'd his bannet braid and blue,
His hame-spun suit o' hodden grey,
His blue boot-hose drew ower his knees,
An' teuk the gate at skreigh o' day.
His Bible had he in his pouch,
O' scones an' cheese a guidly whang;
An' staff in haun', he's aff to see
The godly wark at auld Cam'slang.
'The lingerin' star that greets the morn'
Was twinklin' thro' the misty blue;
The muircock craw'd, the paitrick whirr'd,
An' roun' his head the peesweep flew.
He trampit on ower muir an' moss
For thretty miles an' mair, I ween,
Till to the Kirk o' auld Cam'slang
He cam' on Saturday at e'en.
He lodged him in a hamely hoose,
Syne dauner't oot intil the nicht;
The mune was down, the win's were lown,
But a' the lift wi' stars was bricht.
Nae soun' o' youngsters oot at e'en,
Nae voice o' whisp'ring lovers there;
He heard nae soun' but that o' praise-
He heard nae voice but that o' prayer.
By ilka bush o' whin or broom,
By lown dyke back or braeside green,
Folk greetin', prayin', praisin' there,
A' sittin', kneelin', roun' war seen.
He teuk the bannet aff his heid,
An' liftit up to heaven his e'e;
Wi' solemn awe, an' holy fear,
His heart was fu' as fu' coud be.
He kneel'd ahint a boortree bush,
Whaur but the e'e o' God coud see,
Whaur but the ear o' God coud hear-
An' pray'd baith lang an' fervently.
Neist day, frae a' the kintra roun',
By tens o' hunners folk cam there,
To hear the words o' grace and truth
Frae preachers in the open air.
He thocht to sit within the kirk
He rather wad than sit ootbye,
Sae in he gaed, an' there he sat
Till stars were blinkin' in the sky.
Nae cries he heard, nae fits he saw,
But sabs were rife, an' tearfu' een
That ne'er leuk'd aff the preacher's face,
Was a' that coud be heard or seen.
The dews were fa'in' on the yirth-
On mony a heart the dews o' grace
Had fa'en that day, e'en while they sat
At Jesus' feet, in Mary's place.
At dawnin' o' the morn he rose
On Monday-hame he boud to gang;
And a' his days he ne'er forgat
That Sabbath-day at auld Cam'slang.
Whan years had gane, a printed beuk
Cam' oot, whilk I hae aften seen,
An' it was seal'd, an' it was sign'd,
By ministers a guidly wheen.
It said that mony hunner souls,
What time the wark was at Cam'slang,
War turn'd to God, an' a' their days
Had leev'd an' gane as saints shoud gang.
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