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this world, was the subject of many of his fervent prayers. But a deep melancholy, in a great degree the effect
of bodily ailments, settled down on David's soul. Many weary months did he spend in awful gloom, till the
trouble of his soul wasted away his body: but the light broke in before his death; joy from the face of a fully
reconciled Father above lighted up his face; and the peace of his last days was the sweet consolation left to his
afflicted friends, when, 8th July 1851, he fell asleep in Jesus.
The death of this brother, with all its circumstances, was used by the Holy Spirit to produce a deep impression
on Robert's soul. In many respects even in the gifts of a poetic mind there had been a congeniality between
him and David. The vivacity of Robert's ever active and lively mind was the chief point of difference. This
vivacity admirably fitted him for public life; it needed only to be chastened and solemnized, and the event that
had now occurred wrought this effect. A few months before, the happy family circle had been broken up by
the departure of the second brother for India, in the Bengal Medical Service; but when, in the course of the
summer, David was removed from them forever, there were impressions left such as could never be effaced,
at least from the mind of Robert. Naturally of an intensely affectionate disposition, this stroke moved his
whole soul. His quiet hours seem to have been often spent in thoughts of him who was now gone to glory.
There are some lines remaining in which his poetic mind has most touchingly, and with uncommon vigor,
painted him whom he had lost, lines all the more interesting, because the delineation of character and form
which they contain cannot fail to call up to those who knew him the image of the author himself. Some time
after his brother's death he had tried to preserve the features of his well-remembered form, by attempting a
portrait from memory; but throwing aside the pencil in despair, he took up the pen, and poured out the fulness
of his heart.
ON PAINTING THE MINIATURE LIKENESS OF ONE DEPARTED.
ALAS! not perfect yet another touch, And still another, and another still, Till those dull lips breathe life, and
yonder eye Lose its lack lustre hue, and be lit up With the warm glance of living feeling. No It never can be!
Ah, poor, powerless art! Most vaunting, yet most impotent, thou seek'st To trace the thousand, thousand
shades and lights That glowed conspicuous on the blessed face Of him thou fain wouldst imitate to bind
Down to the fragile canvas the wild play Of thought and mild affection, which were wont To dwell in the
serious eye, and play around The placid mouth. Thou seek'st to give again That which the burning soul,
inhabiting Its clay-built tenement, alone can give To leave on cold dead matter the impress Of living
mind to bid a line, a shade, Speak forth, not words, but the soft intercourse Which the immortal spirit, while
on earth It tabernacles, breathes from every pore Thoughts not converted into words, and hopes, And fears,
and hidden joys, and griefs, unborn Into the world of sound, but beaming forth In that expression which no
words, or work Of cunning artist, can express. In vain, Alas! in vain! Come hither, Painter; come, Take up
once more thine instruments thy brush And palette if thy haughty art be, as thou say'st, Omnipotent, and if
thy hand can dare To wield creative power. Renew thy toil, And let my memory, vivified by love, Which
Death's cold separation has but warmed And rendered sacred dictate to thy skill, And guide thy pencil. From
the jetty hair Take off that gaudy lustre that but mocks The true original; and let the dry, Soft, gentle-turning
locks, appear instead. What though to fashion's garish eye they seem Untutored and ungainly? still to me,
Than folly's foppish head-gear, lovelier far Are they, because bespeaking mental toil, Labor assiduous,
through the golden days (Golden if so improved) of guileless youth, Unwearied mining in the precious stores
Of classic lore and better, nobler still, In God's own holy writ. And scatter here And there a thread of grey, to
mark the grief That prematurely checked the bounding flow Of the warm current in his veins, and shed An
early twilight o'er so bright a dawn. No wrinkle sits upon that brow! and thus It ever was. The angry strife
and cares Of avaricious miser did not leave Their base memorial on so fair a page. The eyebrows next draw
closer down, and throw A softening shade o'er the mild orbs below. Let the full eyelid, drooping, half conceal
The back-retiring eye; and point to earth The long brown lashes that bespeak a soul Like his who said, "I am
not worthy, Lord!" From underneath these lowly turning lids, Let not shine forth the gaily sparkling light
Which dazzles oft, and oft deceives; nor yet The dull unmeaning lustre that can gaze Alike on all the world.
But paint an eye In whose half-hidden, steady light I read A truth-inquiring mind; a fancy, too, That could
array in sweet poetic garb The truth he found; while on his artless harp He touched the gentlest feelings,
CHAPTER I. 5
which the blaze Of winter's hearth warms in the homely heart. And oh! recall the look of faith sincere, With
which that eye would scrutinize the page That tells us of offended God appeased By awful sacrifice upon the
cross Of Calvary that bids us leave a world Immersed in darkness and in death, and seek A better country.
Ah! how oft that eye Would turn on me, with pity's tenderest look, And, only half-upbraiding, bid me flee
From the vain idols of my boyish heart!
It was about the same time, while still feeling the sadness of this bereavement, that he wrote the fragment
entitled
"THE RIGHTEOUS PERISHETH, AND NO MAN LAYETH IT TO HEART."
A grave I know Where earthly show Is not a mound Whose gentle round Sustains the load Of a fresh sod. Its
shape is rude, And weeds intrude Their yellow flowers In gayer bowers Unknown. The grass, A tufted mass,
Is rank and strong, Unsmoothed and long. No rosebud there Embalms the air; No lily chaste Adorns the waste,
Nor daisy's head Bedecks the bed. No myrtles wave Above that grave; Unknown in life, And far from strife,
He lived: and though The magic flow Of genius played Around his head, And he could weave "The song at
eve," And touch the heart, With gentlest art; Or care beguile, And draw the smile Of peace from those Who
wept their woes Yet when the love Of Christ above To guilty men Was shown him then He left the joys Of
worldly noise, And humbly laid His drooping head Nor heather-bell Is there to tell Of gentle friend Who
sought to lend A sweeter sleep To him who deep Beneath the ground Repose has found. No stone of woe Is
there to show The name, or tell How passing well He loved his God, And how he trod The humble road That
leads through sorrow To a bright morrow He sought the breath: But which can give The power to live
Whose word alone Can melt the stone, Bid tumult cease, And all be peace! He sought not now To wreathe his
brow With laurel bough. He sought no more To gather store Of earthly lore, Nor vainly strove To share the
love Of heaven above, With aught below That earth can show The smile forsook His cheek his look Was
cold and sad; And even the glad Return of morn, When the ripe corn Waves o'er the plains, And simple
swains With joy prepare The toil to share Of harvest, brought No lively thought To him.
And spring adorns The sunny morns With opening flowers; Upon the cross; And thought the loss Of all that
earth Contained of mirth, Of loves, and fame, And pleasures' name No sacrifice To win the prize, Which
Christ secured, When He endured For us the load The wrath of God! With many a tear, And many a fear,
With many a sigh And heart-wrung cry Of timid faith, Where intervenes No darkening cloud Of sin to shroud
The gazer's view. Thus sadly flew The merry spring; And gaily sing The birds their loves In summer groves.
But not for him Their notes they trim. His ear is cold His tale is told. Above his grave The grass may wave
The crowd pass by Without a sigh Above the spot. They knew him not They could not know; And even
though, Why should they shed Above the dead Who slumbers here A single tear? I cannot weep, Though in
my sleep I sometimes clasp With love's fond grasp His gentle hand, And see him stand Beside my bed, And
lean his head Upon my breast, O'er lawn and mead; Its virgin head The snowdrop steeps In dew, and peeps
The crocus forth, Nor dreads the north. But even the spring No smile can bring To him, whose eye Sought in
the sky For brighter scenes.
And bid me rest Nor night nor day Till I can say That I have found The holy ground In which there lies The
Pearl of Price Till all the ties The soul that bind, And all the lies The soul that blind, Be
Nothing could more fully prove the deep impression which the event made than these verses. But it was not a
transient regret, nor was it the "sorrow of the world." He was in his eighteenth year when his brother died; and
if this was not the year of his new birth, at least it was the year when the first streaks of dawn appeared in his
soul. From that day forward his friends observed a change. His poetry was pervaded with serious thought, and
all his pursuits began to be followed out in another spirit. He engaged in the labors of a Sabbath school, and
began to seek God to his soul, in the diligent reading of the word, and attendance on a faithful ministry.
CHAPTER I. 6
How important this period of his life appeared in his own view, may be gathered from his allusions to it in
later days. A year after, he writes in his diary: "On this morning last year came the first overwhelming blow to
my worldliness; how blessed to me, Thou, O God, only knowest, who hast made it so." Every year he marked
this day as one to be remembered, and occasionally its recollections seem to have come in like a flood. In a
letter to a friend (8th July 1842), upon a matter entirely local, he concludes by a postscript: "This day eleven
years ago, my holy brother David entered into his rest, aged 26." And on that same day, writing a note to one
of his flock in Dundee (who had asked him to furnish a preface to a work printed 1740, Letters on Spiritual
Subjects), he commends the book, and adds: "Pray for me, that I may be made holier and wiser less like
myself, and more like my heavenly Master; that I may not regard my life, if so be I may finish my course with
joy. This day eleven years ago, I lost my loved and loving brother, and began to seek a Brother who cannot
die."
It was to companions who could sympathize in his feelings that he unbosomed himself. At that period it was
not common for inquiring souls to carry their case to their pastor. A conventional reserve upon theses subjects
prevailed even among lively believers. It almost seemed as if they were ashamed of the Son of man. This
reserve appeared to him very sinful; and he felt it to be so great an evil, that in after days he was careful to
encourage anxious souls to converse with him freely. The nature of his experience, however, we have some
means of knowing. On one occasion, a few of us who had studied together were reviewing the Lord's dealings
with our souls, and how He had brought us to himself all very nearly at the same time, though without any
special instrumentality. He stated that there was nothing sudden in his case, and that he was led to Christ
through deep and ever-abiding, but not awful or distracting, convictions. In this we see the Lord's sovereignty.
In bringing a soul to the Saviour, the Holy Spirit invariably leads it to very deep consciousness of sin; but then
He causes this consciousness of sin to be more distressing and intolerable to some than to others. But in one
point does the experience of all believing sinners agree in this matter, viz. their soul presented to their view
nothing but an abyss of sin, when the grace of God that bringeth salvation appeared.
The Holy Spirit carried on his work in the subject of this Memoir, by continuing to deepen in him the
conviction of his ungodliness, and the pollution of his whole nature. And all his life long, he viewed original
sin, not as an excuse for his actual sins, but as an aggravation of them all. In this view he was of the mind of
David, taught by the unerring Spirit of Truth. See Psalm 51:4, 5.
At first light dawned slowly; so slowly, that for a considerable time he still relished an occasional plunge into
scenes of gaiety. Even after entering the Divinity Hall, he could be persuaded to indulge in lighter pursuits, at
least during the two first years of his attendance; but it was with growing alarm. When hurried away by such
worldly joys, I find him writing thus: "Sept. 14 May there be few such records as this in my biography."
Then, "Dec. 9 A thorn in my side much torment." As the unholiness of his pleasures became more
apparent, he writes: "March 10, 1832 I hope never to play cards again." "March 25 Never visit on a
Sunday evening again." "April 10 Absented myself from the dance; upbraidings ill to bear. But I must try to
bear the cross." It seems to be in reference to the receding tide, which thus for a season repeatedly drew him
back to the world, that on July 8, 1836, he records: "This morning five years ago, my dear brother David died,
and my heart for the first time knew true bereavement. Truly it was all well. Let me be dumb, for Thou didst
it: and it was good for me that I was afflicted. I know not that any providence was ever more abused by man
than that was by me; and yet, Lord, what mountains Thou comest over! none was ever more blessed to me."
To us who can look at the results, it appears probable that the Lord permitted him thus to try many broken
cisterns, and to taste the wormwood of many earthly streams, in order that in after days, by the side of the
fountain of living waters, he might point to the world he had forever left, and testify the surpassing
preciousness of what he had now found.
Mr. Alexander Somerville (afterwards minister of Anderston Church, Glasgow) was his familiar friend and
companion in the gay scenes of his youth. And he, too, about this time, having been brought to taste the
powers of the world to come, they united their efforts for each other's welfare. They met together for the study
of the Bible, and used to exercise themselves in the Septuagint Greek and the Hebrew original. But oftener
CHAPTER I. 7
still they met for prayer and solemn converse; and carrying on all their studies in the same spirit, watched each
other's steps in the narrow way.
He thought himself much profited, at this period, by investigating the subject of Election and the Free Grace
of God. But it was the reading of The Sum of Saving Knowledge, generally appended to our Confession of
Faith, that brought him to a clear understanding of the way of acceptance with God. Those who are acquainted
with its admirable statements of truth, will see how well fitted it was to direct an inquiring soul. I find him
some years afterwards recording: "March 11, 1834 Read in the Sum of Saving Knowledge, the work which
I think first of all wrought a saving change in me. How gladly would I renew the reading of it, if that change
might be carried on to perfection!" It will be observed that he never reckoned his soul saved, notwithstanding
all his convictions and views of sins, until he really went into the Holiest of all on the warrant of the
Redeemer's work; for assuredly a sinner is still under wrath, until he has actually availed himself of the way to
the Father opened up by Jesus. All his knowledge of his sinfulness, and all his sad feeling of his own need and
danger, cannot place him one step farther off from the lake of fire. It is "he that comes to Christ" that is saved.
Before this period he had received a bias towards the ministry from his brother David, who used to speak of
the ministry as the most blessed work on earth, and often expressed the greatest delight in the hope that his
younger brother might one day become a minister of Christ. And now, with altered views, with an eye that
could gaze on heaven and hell, and a heart that felt the love of a reconciled God, he sought to become a
herald of salvation.
He had begun to keep a register of his studies, and the manner in which his time slipped away, some months
before his brother's death. For a considerable time this register contains almost nothing but the bare incidents
of the diary, and on Sabbaths the texts of the sermons he had heard. There is one gleam of serious
thought but it is the only one during that period. On occasion of Dr. Andrew Thomson's funeral, he records
the deep and universal grief that pervaded the town, and then subjoins: "Pleasing to see so much public feeling
excited on the decease of so worthy a man. How much are the times changed within these eighteen centuries,
since the time when Joseph besought the body in secret, and when he and Nicodemus were the only ones
found to bear the body to the tomb!"
It is in the end of the year that evidences of a change appear. From that period and ever onward his dry
register of every-day incidents is varied with such passages as the following:
"Nov. 12 Reading H. Martyn's Memoirs. Would I could imitate him, giving up father, mother, country,
house, health, life, all for Christ. And yet, what hinders? Lord, purify me, and give me strength to dedicate
myself, my all, to Thee!"
"Dec. 4 Reading Legh Richmond's Life. Poetentia profunda, non sine lacrymis. Nunquam me ipsum, tam
vilem, tam inutilem, tam pauperim, et præcipue tam ingratum, adhuc vidi. Sint lacrymæ dedicationis meæ
pignora!'" ["Deep penitence, not unmixed with tears. I never before saw myself so vile, so useless, so poor,
and, above all, so ungrateful. May these tears be the pledges of my self-dedication!"] There is frequently at
this period a sentence in Latin occurring like the above in the midst of other matter, apparently with the view
of giving freer expression to his feelings regarding himself.
"Dec. 9 Heard a street-preacher: foreign voice. Seems really in earnest. He quoted the striking passage, 'The
Spirit and the bride say, Come, and let him that heareth say, Come!' From this he seems to derive his
authority. Let me learn from this man to be in earnest for the truth, and to despise the scoffing of the world."
Dec. 18 After spending an evening too lightly, he writes: "My heart must break off from all these things.
What right have I to steal and abuse my Master's time? 'Redeem it,' He is crying to me."
"Dec. 25 My mind not yet calmly fixed on the Rock of Ages."
CHAPTER I. 8
"Jan. 12, 1832 Cor non pacem habet. Quare? Peccatum apud fores manet." ["My heart has not peace. Why?
Sin lieth at my door."]
"Jan. 25 A lovely day. Eighty-four cases of cholera at Musselburgh, How it creeps nearer and nearer like a
snake! Who will be the first victim here? Let thine everlasting arms be around us, and we shall be safe."
"Jan. 29, Sabbath Afternoon heard Mr. Bruce (then minister of the New North Church, Edinburgh) on
Malachi 1:1-6. It constitutes the very gravamen of the charge against the unrenewed man, that he has affection
for his earthly parent, and reverence for his earthly master, but none for God! Most noble discourse."
"Feb. 2 Not a trait worth remembering! And yet these four-and-twenty hours must be accounted for."
Feb. 5, Sabbath In the afternoon, having heard the late Mr. Martin of St. George's,[1] he writes, on returning
home: "O quam humilem, sed quam diligentissimum; quam dejectum, sed quam vigilem, quam die noctuque
precantem, decet me esse quum tales viros aspicio. Juva, Pater, Fili, et Spiritus!" ["Oh! how humble, yet how
diligent, how lowly, yet how watchful, how prayerful night and day it becomes me to be, when I see such
men. Help, Father, Son, and Spirit!"]
[1] He says of him on another occasion, June 8, 1834: "A man greatly beloved of whom the world was not
worthy." "An apostolic man." His own calm deep holiness, resembled in many respects Mr. Martin's daily
walk.
From this date he seems to have sat, along with his friend Mr. Somerville, almost entirely under Mr. Bruce's
ministry. He took copious notes of his lectures and sermons, which still remain among his papers.
"Feb. 28 Sober conversation. Fain would I turn to the most interesting of all subjects. Cowardly
backwardness: 'For whosoever is ashamed of me and my words,'" etc.
At this time, hearing, concerning a friend of the family, that she had said, "That she was determined to keep by
the world," he penned the following lines on her melancholy decision:
She has chosen the world, And its paltry crowd; She has chosen the world, And an endless shroud! She has
chosen the world With its misnamed pleasures; She has chosen the world, Before heaven's own treasures.
She hath launched her boat On life's giddy sea, And her all is afloat For eternity. But Bethlehem's star Is not in
her view; And her aim is far From the harbor true.
When the storm descends From an angry sky, Ah! where from the winds Shall the vessel fly? [Away,
then oh, fly From the joys of earth! Her smile is a lie There's a sting in her mirth.]*
When stars are concealed, And rudder gone, And heaven is sealed To the wandering one
The whirlpool opes For the gallant prize; And, with all her hopes, To the deep she hies! But who may tell Of
the place of woe, Where the wicked dwell, Where the worldlings go?
For the human heart Can ne'er conceive What joys are the part Of them who believe; Nor can justly think Of
the cup of death, Which all must drink Who despise the faith.
*Come, leave the dreams Of this transient night, And bask in the beams Of an endless light.
*TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: In the original "Memoirs and Remains of the Reverend Robert Murray
McCheyne", the passage in brackets was the first half of the last, eight-line stanza, and the following quartet
CHAPTER I. 9
was part of the eight-line stanza beginning "When the storm descends".
"March 6 Wild wind and rain all day long. Hebrew class Psalms. New beauty in the original every time I
read. Dr. Welsh lecture on Pliny's letter about the Christians of Bithynia. Professor Jameson on quartz. Dr.
Chalmers grappling with Hume's arguments. Evening Notes, and little else. Mind and body dull." This is a
specimen of his register of daily study.
March 20 After a few sentences in Latin, concluding with "In meam animam veni, Domine Deus
omnipotens," he writes, "Leaning on a staff of my own devising, it betrayed me, and broke under me. It was
not thy staff. Resolving to be a god, Thou showedst me that I was but a man. But my own staff being broken,
why may I not lay hold of thine? Read part of the Life of Jonathan Edwards. How feeble does my spark of
Christianity appear beside such a sun! But even his was a borrowed light, and the same source is still open to
enlighten me."
"April 8 Have found much rest in Him who bore all our burdens for us."
"April 26 To-night I ventured to break the ice of unchristian silence. Why should not selfishness be buried
beneath the Atlantic in matters so sacred?"
May 6, Saturday evening This was the evening previous to the Communion; and in prospect of again
declaring himself the Lord's at his table, he enters into a brief review of his state. He had partaken of the
ordinance in May of the year before for the first time; but he was then living at ease, and saw not the solemn
nature of the step he took. He now sits down and reviews the past:
"What a mass of corruption have I been! How great a portion of my life have I spent wholly without God in
the world, given up to sense and the perishing things around me! Naturally of a feeling and sentimental
disposition, how much of my religion has been, and to this day is, tinged with these colors of earth!
Restrained from open vice by educational views and the fear of man, how much ungodliness has reigned
within me! How often has it broken through all restraints, and come out in the shape of lust and anger, mad
ambitions, and unhallowed words! Though my vice was always refined, yet how subtile and how awfully
prevalent it was! How complete a test was the Sabbath spent in weariness, as much of it as was given to
God's service! How I polluted it by my hypocrisies, my self-conceits, my worldly thoughts, and worldly
friends! How formally and unheedingly the Bible was read, how little was read, so little that even now I
have not read it all! How unboundedly was the wild impulse of the heart obeyed! How much more was the
creature loved than the Creator! O great God, that didst suffer me to live whilst I so dishonored Thee, Thou
knowest the whole; and it was thy hand alone that could awaken me from the death in which I was, and was
contented to be. Gladly would I have escaped from the Shepherd that sought me as I strayed; but He took me
up in his arms and carried me back; and yet He took me not for anything that was in me. I was no more fit for
his service than the Australian, and no more worthy to be called and chosen. Yet why should I doubt? not that
God is unwilling, not that He is unable of both I am assured. But perhaps my old sins are too fearful, and my
unbelief too glaring? Nay; I come to Christ, not although I am a sinner, but just because I am a sinner, even
the chief." He then adds, "And though sentiment and constitutional enthusiasm may have a great effect on me,
still I believe that my soul is in sincerity desirous and earnest about having all its concerns at rest with God
and Christ, that his kingdom occupies the most part of all my thoughts, and even of my long-polluted
affections. Not unto me, not unto me, be the shadow of praise or of merit ascribed, but let all glory be given to
thy most holy name! As surely as Thou didst make the mouth with which I pray, so surely dost Thou prompt
every prayer of faith which I utter. Thou hast made me all that I am, and given me all that I have."
Next day, after communicating, he writes: "I well remember when I was an enemy, and especially abhorred
this ordinance as binding me down; but if I be bound to Christ in heart, I shall not dread any bands that can
draw me close to Him." Evening "Much peace. Look back, my soul, and view the mind that belonged to thee
but twelve months ago. My soul, thy place is in the dust!"
CHAPTER I. 10
"May 19 Thought with more comfort than usual of being a witness for Jesus in a foreign land."
"June 4 Walking with A. Somerville by Craigleith. Conversing on missions. If I am to go to the heathen to
speak of the unsearchable riches of Christ, this one thing must be given me, to be out of the reach of the
baneful influence of esteem or contempt. If worldly motives go with me, I shall never convert a soul, and shall
lose my own in the labor."
"June 22 Variety of studies. Septuagint translation of Exodus and Vulgate. Bought Edwards' works.
Drawing Truly there was nothing in me that should have induced Him to choose me. I was but as the other
brands upon whom the fire is already kindled, which shall burn for evermore! And as soon could the billet
leap from the hearth and become a green tree, as my soul could have sprung to newness of life."
June 25 In reference to the office of the holy ministry; "How apt are we to lose our hours in the vainest
babblings, as do the world! How can this be with those chosen for the mighty office? fellow-workers with
God? heralds of His Son? evangelists? men set apart to the work, chosen out of the chosen, as it were the very
pick of the flocks, who are to shine as the stars forever and ever? Alas, alas! my soul, where shall thou
appear? O Lord God, I am a little child! But Thou wilt send an angel with a live coal from off the altar, and
touch my unclean lips, and put a tongue within my dry mouth, so that I shall say with Isaiah, 'Here am I, send
me.'" Then, after reading a little of Edwards' works: "Oh that heart and understanding may grow together, like
brother and sister, leaning on one another!"
"June 27 Life of David Brainerd. Most wonderful man! What conflicts, what depressions, desertions,
strength, advancement, victories, within thy torn bosom! I cannot express what I think when I think of thee.
To-night, more set upon missionary enterprise than ever."
"June 28 Oh for Brainerd's humility and sin-loathing dispositions!"
"June 30 Much carelessness, sin, and sorrow. 'Oh wretched man than I am, who shall deliver me from this
body of sin and death?' Enter thou, my soul, into the rock, and hide thee in the dust for fear of the Lord and
the glory of his majesty." And then he writes a few verses, of which the following are some stanzas:
I will arise and seek my God, And, bowed down beneath my load, Lay all my sins before Him; Then He will
wash my soul from sin, And put a new heart me within, And teach me to adore Him.
O ye that fain would find the joy The only one that wants alloy Which never is deceiving; Come to the
Well of Life with me, And drink, as it is proffered, free, The gospel draught receiving.
I come to Christ, because I know The very worst are called to go; And when in faith I find Him, I'll walk in
Him, and lean on Him, Because I cannot move a limb Until He say, "Unbind him."
"July 3 This last bitter root of worldliness that has so often betrayed me has this night so grossly, that I
cannot but regard it as God's chosen way to make me loathe and forsake it forever. I would vow; but it is
much more like a weakly worm to pray. Sit in the dust, O my soul!" I believe he was enabled to keep his
resolution. Once only, in the end of this year, was he again led back to gaiety; but it was the last time.
"July 7, Saturday After finishing my usual studies, tried to fast a little, with much prayer and earnest seeking
of God's face, remembering what occurred this night last year." (Alluding to his brother's death.)
"July 22 Had this evening a more complete understanding of that self-emptying and abasement with which it
is necessary to come to Christ, a denying of self, trampling it under foot, a recognizing of the complete
righteousness and justice of God, that could do nothing else with us but condemn us utterly, and thrust us
down to lowest hell, a feeling that, even in hell, we should rejoice in his sovereignty, and say that all was
CHAPTER I. 11
rightly done."
"Aug. 15 Little done, and as little suffered. Awfully important question, Am I redeeming the time?"
"Aug. 18 Heard of the death of James Somerville[2] by fever, induced by cholera. O God, thy ways and
thoughts are not as ours! He had preached his first sermon. I saw him last on Friday, 27th July, at the College
gate; shook hands, and little thought I was to see him no more on earth."
[2] Son of the minister of Drumelzier, very promising and very amiable.
"Sept. 2, Sabbath evening Reading. Too much engrossed, and too little devotional. Preparation for a fall.
Warning. We may be too engrossed with the shell even of heavenly things."
"Sept. 9 Oh for true, unfeigned humility! I know I have cause to be humble; and yet I do not know one-half
of that cause. I know I am proud; and yet I do not know the half of that pride."
"Sept. 30 Somewhat straitened by loose Sabbath observance. Best way is to be explicit and manly."
"Nov. 1 More abundant longings for the work of the ministry. Oh that Christ would but count me faithful,
that a dispensation of the gospel might be committed to me!" And then he adds, "Much peace. Peaceful,
because believing."
Dec. 2 Hitherto he used to spend much of the Sabbath evening in extending his notes of Mr. Bruce's
sermons, but now, "Determined to be brief with these, for the sake of a more practical, meditative, resting,
sabbatical evening."
"Dec. 11 Mind quite unfitted for devotion. Prayerless prayer."
"Dec. 31 God has in this past year introduced me to the preparation of the ministry, I bless Him for that. He
has helped me to give up much of my shame to name his name, and be on his side, especially before particular
friends, I bless Him for that. He has taken conclusively away friends that might have been a snare, must
have been a stumbling-block, I bless Him for that. He has introduced me to one Christian friend, and sealed
more and more my amity with another, I bless Him for that."
Jan. 27, 1833 On this day it had been the custom of his brother David to write a "Carmen Natale" on their
father's birth-day. Robert took up the domestic song this year; and in doing so, makes some beautiful and
tender allusions.
Ah! where is the harp that was strung to thy praise, So oft and so sweetly in happier days? When the tears that
we shed were the tears of our joy, And the pleasures of home were unmixed with alloy? The harp is now
mute its last breathings are spoken And the cord, though 'twas threefold, is now, alas, broken! Yet why
should we murmur, short-sighted and vain, Since death to that loved one was undying gain? Ah, fools! shall
we grieve that he left this poor scene, To dwell in the realms that are ever serene? Through he sparkled the
gem in our circle of love, He is even more prized in the circles above. And though sweetly he sung of his
father on earth, When this day would inspire him with tenderest mirth, Yet a holier tone to his harp is now
given, As he sings to his unborn Father in heaven.
Feb. 3 Writing to a medical friend of his brother William's, he says, "I remember long ago a remark you
once made to William, which has somehow or other stuck in my head, viz. that medical men ought to make a
distinct study of the Bible, purely for the sake of administering conviction and consolation to their patients. I
think you also said that you had actually begun with that view. Such a determination, though formed in youth,
is one which I trust riper years will not make you blush to own."
CHAPTER I. 12
"Feb. 11 Somewhat overcome. Let me see: there is a creeping defect here. Humble purpose-like reading of
the word omitted. What plant can be unwatered and not wither?"
"Feb. 16 Walk to Corstorphine Hill. Exquisite clear view, blue water, and brown fields, and green firs.
Many thoughts on the follies of my youth. How many, O Lord, may they be? Summed up in
one ungodliness!"
"Feb. 21 Am I as willing as ever to preach to the lost heathen?"
"March 8 Biblical criticism. This must not supersede heart-work. How apt it is!"
"March 12 Oh for activity, activity, activity!"
"March 29 To-day my second session (at the Divinity Hall) ends. I am now in the middle of my career. God
hold me on with a steady pace!"
"March 31 The bull tosses in the net! How should the Christian imitate the anxieties of the worldling!"
April 17 He heard of the death of one whom many friends had esteemed much and lamented deeply. This led
him to touch the strings of his harp again, in a measure somewhat irregular, yet sad and sweet.
"WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF."
SHE LIVED
So dying-like and frail, That every bitter gale Of winter seemed to blow Only to lay her low! She lived to
show how He, Who stills the stormy sea, Can overrule the winter's power, And keep alive the tiniest flower
Can bear the young lamb in his arms And shelter it from death's alarms.
SHE DIED
When spring, with brightest flowers, Was fresh'ning all the bowers. The linnet sung her choicest lay, When
her sweet voice was hush'd for aye The snowdrop rose above the ground When she beneath her pillow found,
Both cold, and white, and fair, She, fairest of the fair, She died to teach us all The loveliest must fall. A
curse is written on the brow Of beauty; and the lover's vow Cannot retain the flitting breath, Nor save from
all-devouring death.
SHE LIVES
The spirit left the earth; And he who gave her birth Has called her to his dread abode, To meet her Saviour
and her God. She lives, to tell how blest Is the everlasting rest Of those who, in the Lamb's blood laved, Are
chosen, sanctified, and saved! How fearful is their doom Who drop into the tomb Without a covert from the
ire Of Him who is consuming fire!
SHE SHALL LIVE
The grave shall yield his prize, When, from the rending skies, Christ shall with shouting angels come To wake
the slumberers of the tomb. And many more shall rise Before our longing eyes. Oh! may we all together meet,
Embracing the Redeemer's feet!
"May 20 General Assembly. The motion regarding Chapels of Ease lost by 106 to 103. Every shock of the
ram is heavier and stronger, till all shall give way."
CHAPTER I. 13
"June 4 Evening almost lost. Music will not sanctify, though it make feminine the heart."
"June 22 Omissions make way for commissions. Could I but take effective warning! A world's wealth
would not make up for that saying, 'If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father.' But how shall we
that are dead to sin live any longer therein?"
"June 30 Self-examination. Why is a missionary life so often an object of my thoughts? Is it simply for the
love I bear to souls? Then, why do I not show it more where I am? Souls are as precious here as in Burmah.
Does the romance of the business not weigh anything with me? the interest and esteem I would carry with
me? the nice journals and letters I should write and receive? Why would I so much rather go to the East than
to the West Indies? Am I wholly deceiving my own heart? and have I not a spark of true missionary zeal?
Lord, give me to understand and imitate the spirit of those unearthly words of thy dear Son: 'It is enough for
the disciple that he be as his Master, and the servant as his Lord.' 'He that loveth father or mother more than
me, is not worthy of me.' Gloria in excelsis Deo!
"Aug. 13 Clear conviction of sin is the only true origin of dependence on another's righteousness, and
therefore (strange to say!) of the Christian's peace of mind and cheerfulness."
"Sept. 8 Reading Adams' Private Thoughts. Oh for his heart-searching humility! Ah me! on what mountains
of pride must I be wandering, when all I do is tinctured with the very sins this man so deplores; yet where are
my wailings, where my tears, over my love of praise?"
"Nov. 14 Composition a pleasant kind of labor. I fear the love of applause or effect goes a great way. May
God keep me from preaching myself instead of Christ crucified."
"Jan. 15, 1834 Heard of the death of J.S., off the Cape of Good Hope. O God! how Thou breakest into
families! Must not the disease be dangerous, when a tender-hearted surgeon cuts deep into the flesh? How
much more when God is the operator, 'who afflicteth not from his heart [[Hebrew: meilivo]], nor grieveth the
children of men!' Lam. 3:33."
"Feb. 23, Sabbath Rose early to seek God, and found Him whom my soul loveth. Who would not rise early
to meet such company? The rains are over and gone. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."
Feb. 24 He writes a letter to one who, he feared, was only sentimental, and not really under a sense of sin.
"Is it possible, think you, for a person to be conceited of his miseries? May there not be a deep leaven of pride
in telling how desolate and how unfeeling we are? in brooding over our unearthly pains? in our being
excluded from the unsympathetic world? in our being the invalids of Christ's hospital?" He had himself been
taught by the Spirit that it is more humbling for us to take what grace offers, than to bewail our wants and
worthlessness.
Two days after, he records, with thankful astonishment, that for the first time in his life he had been blest to
awaken a soul. All who find Christ for themselves are impelled, by the holy necessity of constraining love, to
seek the salvation of others. Andrew findeth his brother Peter, and Philip findeth his friend Nathanael. So was
it in the case before us. He no sooner knew Christ's righteousness as his own covering, than he longed to see
others clothed in the same spotless robe. And it is peculiarly interesting to read the feelings of one who was
yet to be blest in plucking so many brands from the fire, when, for the first time, he saw the Lord graciously
employing him in this more than angelic work. We have his own testimony. "Feb. 26 After sermon. The
precious tidings that a soul has been melted down by the grace of the Saviour. How blessed an answer to
prayer, if it be really so! 'Can these dry bones live? Lord, Thou knowest.' What a blessed thing it is to see the
first grievings of the awakened spirit, when it cries, 'I cannot see myself a sinner; I cannot pray, for my vile
heart wanders!' It has refreshed me more than a thousand sermons. I know not how to thank and admire God
sufficiently for this incipient work. Lord, perfect that which Thou hast begun!" A few days after: "Lord, I
CHAPTER I. 14