The Annals of the Parish: Or, the Chronicle of Dalmailing During the Ministry of the Rev. Micah BalwhidderGalt, John
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The Annals of the Parish: Or, the Chronicle of Dalmailing During the Ministry of the Rev. Micah Balwhidder
Galt, John
Clergy -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
THIS blessed Ann. Dom. was one of the Sabbaths of my ministry. When I
look back upon it, all is quiet and good order: the darkest cloud of the
smuggling had passed over, at least from my people, and the rumours of
rebellion in America were but like the distant sound of the bars of Ayr.
We sat, as it were, in a lown and pleasant place, beholding our
prosperity, like the apple-tree adorned with her garlands of flourishes,
in the first fair mornings of the spring, when the birds were returning
thanks to their Maker for the coming again of the seed-time, and the busy
bee goeth forth from her cell, to gather honey from the flowers of the
field, and the broom of the hill, and the blue-bells and gowans, which
Nature, with a gracious and a gentle hand, scatters in the valley, as she
walketh forth in her beauty, to testify to the goodness of the Father of
all mercies.
Both at the spring and the harvest sacraments, the weather was as that
which is in Paradise; there was a glad composure in all hearts, and the
minds of men were softened towards each other. The number of
communicants was greater than had been known for many years, and the
tables were filled by the pious from many a neighbouring parish: those of
my hearers who had opposed my placing, declared openly, for a testimony
of satisfaction and holy thankfulness, that the tent, so surrounded as it
was on both occasions, was a sight they never had expected to see. I
was, to be sure, assisted by some of the best divines then in the land,
but I had not been a sluggard myself in the vineyard.
Often, when I think on this year, so fruitful in pleasant intimacies, has
the thought come into my mind, that as the Lord blesses the earth from
time to time with a harvest of more than the usual increase, so, in like
manner, he is sometimes for a season pleased to pour into the breasts of
mankind a larger portion of good-will and charity, disposing them to love
one another, to be kindly to all creatures, and filled with the delight
of thankfulness to himself, which is the greatest of blessings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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