In Priesthill at dawing the psalm had ascended,
The chapter been read, and the humble knee bended;
Now in moors thick with mist, at his pastoral employment,
The meek soul of Brown with his God found enjoyment.
At home, Isabella was busy preparing
The meal, with a husband so sweet aye in sharing;
In the cradle beside her the infant lay smiling,
The mother with sweet songs its fancy beguiling.
His daughter went forth in the dews of the morning
To meet on the footpath her father returning;
Alone 'mong the mist she expected to find him,
But horsemen in armour came riding behind him.
The mother, in trembling, in tears, and dismay,
Clasped her babe to her bosom, and hasted away;
She clung to her husband, distracted and dumb,
For she felt that the hour of her trial was come.
But vain her distraction, her tears and her prayer.
Her sufferings by Claver'se were held light as air;
With his little ones weeping around him, he brought
The fond father forth, in their sight to be shot.
"Bid farewell thy family, and welcome thy death,
Sinee thou choosest so fondly to cherish thy faith;
Some minutes my mercy permits thee for prayer.
Let six of my horsemen their pistols prepare."
"My widow, my orphan, O God, I resign
To thy care; and the babe yet unborn, too, is thine;
Let thy blessing be round them, to guard and to keep,
When over my green grave forsaken they weep."
At the door of his home, on the heather he knelt;
His prayer for his family the pitiless felt;
The rough soldiers listened with tears and with sighs,
Till Claverhouse cursed him, and caused him to rise.
For the last time the lips of his young ones he kiss'd.
His dear little daughter he clasped to his breast:
"To thy mother be kind, read thy Bible, and pray;
The Lord will protect thee when I am away.
"Isabella, farewell! Thou shalt shortly behold
Thy love on the heather stretch’d bloody and cold.
