At Jassy, after a deeply interesting day, spent in conversation with Jews who came to the inn, he said, "I will remember the faces of those men at the judgment-seat." When he came among the more educated Jews of Europe, he rejoiced to find that they could converse with him in Latin. His heart was bent on doing what he could (Mark 14:8), in season and out of season. "One thing," he writes, "I am deeply convinced of, that God can make the simplest statement of the gospel effectual to save souls. If only it be the true gospel, the good tidings, the message that God loved the world, and provided a ransom free to all, then God is able to make it wound the heart, and heal it too. There is deep meaning in the words of Paul, 'I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.'"
The abominations of Popery witnessed in Austrian Poland, called forth many a prayer for the destruction of the Man of Sin. "The images and idols by the wayside are actually frightful, stamping the whole land as a kingdom of darkness. I do believe that a journey through Austria would go far to cure some of the Popery-admirers of our beloved land." He adds: "These are the marks of the beast upon this land." And in like manner our privileges in Scotland used to appear to him the more precious, when, as at Brody, we heard of Protestants who were supplied with sermon only once a year. "I must tell this to my people," said he, "when I return, to make them prize their many seasons of grace."
He estimated the importance of a town or country by its relation to the house of Israel; and his yearnings over these lost sheep resembled his bowels of compassion for his flock at home. At Tarnapol, in Galicia, he wrote home: "We are in Tarnapol, a very nice clean town, prettily situated on a winding stream, with wooded hills around. I suppose you never heard its name before; neither did I till we were there among Jews. I know not whether it has been the birth-place of warriors, or poets, or orators; its flowers have hitherto been born to blush unseen, at least by us barbarians of the north; but if God revive the dry bones of Israel that are scattered over the world, there will arise from this place an exceeding great army."
Our friend and brother in the faith, Erasmus Calman, lightened the tediousness of a long day's journey by repeating to us some Hebrew poetry. One piece was on Israel's present state of degradation; it began--
[Hebrew: tsuri goali maheir v'chish p'dut ]
As the vehicle drove along, we translated it line by line, and soon after Mr. M'Cheyne put it into verse. The following lines are a part:--
Rock and Refuge of my soul, Swiftly let the season roll, When thine Israel shall arise Lovely in the nations' eyes!
Lord of glory, Lord of might, As our ransomed fathers tell; Once more for thy people fight, Plead for thy loved Israel. Give our spoilers' towers to be Waste and desolate as we.
Hasten, Lord, the joyful year, When thy Zion, tempest-tossed, Shall the silver trumpet hear: Bring glad tidings to the lost! Captive, cast thy cords from thee, Loose thy neck--be free--be free!
Why dost Thou behold our sadness? See the proud have torn away All our years of solemn gladness, When thy flock kept holy-day! Lord, thy fruitful vine is bare, Not one gleaning grape is there!
Rock and Refuge of my soul, Swiftly let the season roll, When thine Israel shall be, Once again, beloved and free.
In his notes, he has one or two subjects marked for hymns. One of these is--Isaiah 2:3--"Come ye," etc., _a loving call to the Jews_. Another is to the same effect--Isaiah 1:15--"Come, let us reason together." But these he never completed. In Cracow, having heard of the death of a friend, the wife of an English clergyman, in the midst of her days and in the full promise of usefulness, he began to pen a few sweet lines of comfort:
Oft as she taught the little maids of France To leave the garland, castanet, and dance, And listen to the words which she would say About the crowns that never fade away, A new expression kindled in her eye, A holy brightness, borrowed from the sky. And when returning to her native land, She bowed beneath a Father's chast'ning hand, When the quick pulse and flush upon the cheek, A touching warning to her friends would speak, A holy cheerfulness yet filled her eye, Willing she was to live, willing to die. As the good Shunammite (the Scriptures tell), When her son died, said meekly, "It is well," So when Sophia lost her infant boy, And felt how dear-bought is a mother's joy, When with green turf the little grave she spread, "Not lost, but gone before," she meekly said. And now they sleep together 'neath the willow The same dew drops upon their silent pillow. Return, O mourner, from this double grave, And praise the God who all her graces gave. Follow her faith, and let her mantle be A cloak of holy zeal to cover thee.