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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420455" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Barclay Of Ury</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up the streets of Aberdeen,<br>By the kirk and college green,<br>Rode the Laird of Ury;<br>Close behind him, close beside,<br>Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,<br>Pressed the mob in fury.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Flouted him the drunken churl,<br>Jeered at him the serving-girl,<br>Prompt to please her master;<br>And the begging carlin, late<br>Fed and clothed at Ury's gate,<br>Cursed him as he passed her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, with calm and stately mien,<br>Up the streets of Aberdeen<br>Came he slowly riding;<br>And, to all he saw and heard,<br>Answering not with bitter word,<br>Turning not for chiding.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Came a troop with broad swords swinging,<br>Bits and bridles sharply ringing,<br>Loose and free and forward;<br>Quoth the foremost, 'Ride him down!<br>Push him! prick him! through the town<br>Drive the Quaker coward!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But from out the thickening crowd<br>Cried a sudden voice and loud:<br>'Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!<br>And the old man at his side<br>Saw a comrade, battle tried,<br>Scarred and sunburned darkly,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who with ready weapon bare,<br>Fronting to the troopers there,<br>Cried aloud: 'God save us,<br>Call ye coward him who stood<br>Ankle deep in Lutzen's blood,<br>With the brave Gustavus?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Nay, I do not need thy sword,<br>Comrade mine,' said Ury's lord.<br>'Put it up, I pray thee:<br>Passive to His holy will,<br>Trust I in my Master still,<br>Even though He slay me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Pledges of thy love and faith,<br>Proved on many a field of death,<br>Not by me are needed.'<br>Marvelled much that henchman bold,<br>That his laird, so stout of old,<br>Now so meekly pleaded.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Woe's the day!' he sadly said,<br>With a slowly shaking head,<br>And a look of pity;<br>'Ury's honest lord reviled,<br>Mock of knave and sport of child,<br>In his own good city!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Speak the word, and, master mine,<br>As we charged on Tilly's line,<br>And his Walloon lancers,<br>Smiting through their midst we'll teach<br>Civil look and decent speech<br>To these boyish prancers!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Marvel not, mine ancient friend,<br>Like beginning, like the end,'<br>Quoth the Laird of Ury;<br>'Is the sinful servant more<br>Than his gracious Lord who bore<br>Bonds and stripes in Jewry?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Give me joy that in his name<br>I can bear, with patient frame,<br>All these vain ones offer;<br>While for them He suffereth long,<br>Shall I answer wrong with wrong,<br>Scoffing with the scoffer?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Happier I, with loss of all,<br>Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,<br>With few friends to greet me,<br>Than when reeve and squire were seen,<br>Riding our from Aberdeen,<br>With bared heads to meet me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'When each goodwife, o'er and o'er,<br>Blessed me as I passed her door;<br>And the snooded daughter,<br>Through her casement glancing down,<br>Smiled on him who bore renown<br>From red fields of slaughter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Hard to feel the stranger's scoff,<br>Hard the old friend's falling off,<br>Hard to learn forgiving;<br>But the Lord His own rewards,<br>And His love with theirs accords,<br>Warm and fresh and living.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Through this dark and stormy night<br>Faith beholds a feeble light<br>Up the blackness streaking;<br>Knowing God's own time is best,<br>In a patient hope I rest<br>For the full day-breaking!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So the Laird of Ury said,<br>Turning slow his horse's head<br>Towards the Tolbooth prison,<br>Where, through iron gates, he heard<br>Poor disciples of thee Word<br>Preach of Christ arisen!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not in vain, Confessor old,<br>Unto us the tale is told<br>Of thy day of trial;<br>Every age on him who strays<br>From its broad and beaten ways<br>Pours its seven-fold vial.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Happy he whose inward ear<br>Angel comfortings can hear,<br>O'er the rabble's laughter;<br>And while Hatred's fagots burn,<br>Glimpses through the smoke discern<br>Of the good hereafter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Knowing this, that never yet<br>Share of Truth was vainly set<br>In the world's wide fallow;<br>After hands shall sow the seed,<br>After hands from hill and mead<br>Reap the harvests yellow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus, with somewhat of the Seer,<br>Must the moral pioneer<br>From the Future borrow;<br>Clothe the waste with dreams of grain,<br>And, on midnight's sky of rain,<br>Paint the golden morrow!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420455" data-title="Barclay Of Ury de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Up the streets of Aberdeen,
By the kirk and college green,
Rode the Laird of Ury;
Close behind him, close beside,
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,
Pressed the mob in fury.

Flouted him the drunken churl,
Jeered at him the serving-girl,
Prompt to pleas..."></div>
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