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Where sweet the thrushes sing; And I found on a bed of mosses A bird with a broken wing. I healed its wound, and each morning It sang its old sweet strain, But the bird with a broken pinion Never soared as high again. I found a young life broken By sin's seductive art; And touched with a Christlike pity, I took him to my heart. He lived with a noble purpose And struggled not in vain; But the life that sin had stricken Never soared as high again. But the bird with a broken pinion Kept another from the snare; And the life that sin had stricken Raised another from despair. Each loss has its compensation, There is healing for every pain; But the bird with a broken pinion Never soars as high again. Hezekiah Butterworth.

Jamie Douglas

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It was in the days when Claverhouse

Was scouring moor and glen,

To change, with fire and bloody sword,

The faith of Scottish men.

They had made a covenant with the Lord

Firm in their faith to bide,

Nor break to Him their plighted word,

Whatever might betide.

The sun was well-nigh setting,

When o'er the heather wild,

And up the narrow mountain-path,

Alone there walked a child.

He was a bonny, blithesome lad,

Sturdy and strong of limb—

A father's pride, a mother's love,

Were fast bound up in him.

His bright blue eyes glanced fearless round,

His step was firm and light;

What was it underneath his plaid

His little hands grasped tight?

It was bannocks which, that very morn,

His mother made with care.

From out her scanty store of meal;

And now, with many a prayer,

Had sent by Jamie her ane boy,

A trusty lad and brave,

To good old Pastor Tammons Roy,

Now hid in yonder cave,

And for whom the bloody Claverhouse

Had hunted long in vain,

And swore they would not leave that glen

Till old Tam Roy was slain.

So Jamie Douglas went his way

With heart that knew no fear;

He turned the great curve in the rock,

Nor dreamed that death was near.

And there were bloody Claverhouse men,

Who laughed aloud with glee,

When trembling now within their power,

The frightened child they see.

He turns to flee, but all in vain,

They drag him back apace

To where their cruel leader stands,

And set them face to face.

The cakes concealed beneath his plaid

Soon tell the story plain—

"It is old Tam Roy the cakes are for,"

Exclaimed the angry man.

"Now guide me to his hiding place

And I will let you go."