Awake, my harp! Ring out thy notes, ring out thy richest strain,
O'r those who boldly dared for love of God's cause to be slain;
Tell thou each Christian of today, who by the wayside faints,
Of times when Scotland's plaid was dyed with life-blood of the saints;
When everywhere by hill and glen, within the stricken land,
Who held the Bible, also held their life within their hand;
When righteous men were hunted down like wild beasts of the field –
Brave men, who in the cause of truth would rather die than yield.

Lo! deep from wild sequestered glen, admist the Sabbath calm,
Arises through the early mists to Heav'n the morning Psalm;
Then on the sward, when knees are pressed and every heart aware,
Their hearts rise with the speaker's voice, up to the throne in prayer.
The aged pastor reads the word from God's own sacred page –
Perhaps, where David sought the Lord to quell the heathen's rage;
Again a Psalm they sweetly chant, then kneeling down to pray;
"Oh! help us, Lord, to do they will - protect us through this day".

With Bible placed upon a rock, he then expounds the word:
But, hark! like wind among the trees, a murmuring is heard,
As when far out the sailor hears across his trackless path
The tempest breathe o'er ocean vast a telegram of wrath.
An awful stillness intervenes, then borne along they hear,
Much louder now, like troubled winds, the murmur coming near,
Each heart stands still, the cheeks are blanched, the speaker's voice is dumb;
Their sentry calls from off the height, "The king's dragoons - they come!"

Be calm, be calm, my children dear, and on the Lord rely;
He ever ready is to save the needy when they cry;
Mysterious unto us His ways, but, blessed be His Name,
We yet may wear a robe of light - our foes a crown of shame.
"Adown the glen now while ye may, seek safety all in flight,
But draw your blades, ye trusty few, who yet may have to fight;
The aged and the feeble first; haste! for they hurry near;
The women and the children next; ye strong men, guard the rear".

The holy man, when left alone, sank down behind a rock.
"Heed, heed not me, O Lord!" he cried, "But spare, oh spare Thy flock!
Thy hand lies heavy on the land, Oh lift Thy chastening rod,
If 'tis Thy holy will to hear my humble prayer, O God!
And bless wherever met this day, in cave or lonely glen,
Thy chosen few, and teach them, Lord, to bear themselves like men;
And help thy humble servant now, and hear his earnest cry;
If in his en'my's hand he fall, Oh give him strength to die!"

The captain came, "Now hoary scamp, to flames thy Bible fling,
And on your knees go down and swear allegiance to the King."
"To heaven's high King alone; but not to false King James or thou,
While life-blood warms this aged frame, these knees will ever bow."
"Form round, and ready then, my lads, his blood be on his head,
King James or death?" "Heavens King alone! I have already said".
Flash! went the guns, down sank the saint, thrust by the tyrant's rod,
With horrid oath into his ears, before Thy throne, O God!

  Hugh C. Wilson