Title

By

Robert Louis Stevenson

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Contents

INTRODUCTION.. 3

FOR SUCCESS. 6

FOR GRACE. 7

AT MORNING.. 8

EVENING.. 9

ANOTHER FOR EVENING.. 10

IN TIME OF RAIN.. 11

ANOTHER IN TIME OF RAIN.. 12

BEFORE A TEMPORARY SEPARATION.. 13

FOR FRIENDS. 14

FOR THE FAMILY. 15

SUNDAY. 16

FOR SELF-BLAME. 17

FOR SELF-FORGETFULNESS. 18

FOR RENEWAL OF JOY. 19

A Lowden Sabbath Morn. 20

AUTHOR'S NOTE. 24

Prayers Written At Vailima

INTRODUCTION

In every Samoan household the day is closed with prayer and the  singing of hymns.  The omission of this sacred duty would indicate,  not only a lack of religious training in the house chief, but a  shameless disregard of all that is reputable in Samoan social life.   No doubt, to many, the evening service is no more than a duty  fulfilled.  The child who says his prayer at his mother's knee can  have no real conception of the meaning of the words he lisps so  readily, yet he goes to his little bed with a sense of heavenly  protection that he would miss were the prayer forgotten.  The  average Samoan is but a larger child in most things, and would lay  an uneasy head on his wooden pillow if he had not joined, even  perfunctorily, in the evening service.  With my husband, prayer,  the direct appeal, was a necessity.  When he was happy he felt  impelled to offer thanks for that undeserved joy; when in sorrow,  or pain, to call for strength to bear what must be borne.

Vailima lay up some three miles of continual rise from Apia, and  more than half that distance from the nearest village.  It was a  long way for a tired man to walk down every evening with the sole  purpose of joining in family worship; and the road through the bush  was dark, and, to the Samoan imagination, beset with supernatural  terrors.  Wherefore, as soon as our household had fallen into a  regular routine, and the bonds of Samoan family life began to draw  us more closely together, Tusitala felt the necessity of including  our retainers in our evening devotions.  I suppose ours was the  only white man's family in all Samoa, except those of the  missionaries, where the day naturally ended with this homely,  patriarchal custom.  Not only were the religious scruples of the  natives satisfied, but, what we did not foresee, our own  respectability - and incidentally that of our retainers - became  assured, and the influence of Tusitala increased tenfold.

After all work and meals were finished, the 'pu,' or war conch, was  sounded from the back veranda and the front, so that it might be  heard by all.  I don't think it ever occurred to us that there was  any incongruity in the use of the war conch for the peaceful  invitation to prayer.  In response to its summons the white members  of the family took their usual places in one end of the large hall,  while the Samoans - men, women, and children - trooped in through  all the open doors, some carrying lanterns if the evening were  dark, all moving quietly and dropping with Samoan decorum in a wide  semicircle on the floor beneath a great lamp that hung from the  ceiling.  The service began by my son reading a chapter from the  Samoan Bible, Tusitala following with a prayer in English,  sometimes impromptu, but more often from the notes in this little  book, interpolating or changing with the circumstance of the day.   Then came the singing of one or more hymns in the native tongue,  and the recitation in concert of the Lord's Prayer, also in Samoan.   Many of these hymns were set to ancient tunes, very wild and  warlike, and strangely at variance with the missionary words.

Sometimes a passing band of hostile warriors, with blackened faces,  would peer in at us through the open windows, and often we were  forced to pause until the strangely savage, monotonous noise of the  native drums had ceased; but no Samoan, nor, I trust, white person,  changed his reverent attitude.  Once, I remember a look of  surprised dismay crossing the countenance of Tusitala when my son,  contrary to his usual custom of reading the next chapter following  that of yesterday, turned back the leaves of his Bible to find a  chapter fiercely denunciatory, and only too applicable to the  foreign dictators of distracted Samoa.  On another occasion the  chief himself brought the service to a sudden check.  He had just  learned of the treacherous conduct of one in whom he had every  reason to trust.  That evening the prayer seemed unusually short  and formal.  As the singing stopped he arose abruptly and left the  room.  I hastened after him, fearing some sudden illness.  'What is  it?' I asked.  'It is this,' was the reply; 'I am not yet fit to  say, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass  against us."'

It is with natural reluctance that I touch upon the last prayer of  my husband's life.  Many have supposed that he showed, in the  wording of this prayer, that he had some premonition of his  approaching death.  I am sure he had no such premonition.  It was I  who told the assembled family that I felt an impending disaster  approaching nearer and nearer.  Any Scot will understand that my  statement was received seriously.  It could not be, we thought,  that danger threatened any one within the house; but Mr. Graham  Balfour, my husband's cousin, very near and dear to us, was away on  a perilous cruise.  Our fears followed the various vessels, more or  less unseaworthy, in which he was making his way from island to  island to the atoll where the exiled king, Mataafa, was at that  time imprisoned.  In my husband's last prayer, the night before his  death, he asked that we should be given strength to bear the loss  of this dear friend, should such a sorrow befall us.

Contents

For Success For Grace At Morning Evening Another For Evening In Time of Rain Another in Time of Rain Before a Temporary Separation For Friends For the Family Sunday For Self-Blame For Self-Forgetfulness For Renewal of Joy

FOR SUCCESS

LORD, behold our family here assembled.  We thank Thee for this  place in which we dwell; for the love that unites us; for the peace  accorded us this day; for the hope with which we expect the morrow;  for the health, the work, the food, and the bright skies, that make  our lives delightful; for our friends in all parts of the earth,  and our friendly helpers in this foreign isle.  Let peace abound in  our small company.  Purge out of every heart the lurking grudge.   Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere.  Offenders,  give us the grace to accept and to forgive offenders.  Forgetful  ourselves, help us to bear cheerfully the forgetfulness of others.   Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind.  Spare to us our  friends, soften to us our enemies.  Bless us, if it may be, in all  our innocent endeavours.  If it may not, give us the strength to  encounter that which is to come, that we be brave in peril,  constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, and in all changes of  fortune, and, down to the gates of death, loyal and loving one to  another.  As the clay to the potter, as the windmill to the wind,  as children of their sire, we beseech of Thee this help and mercy  for Christ's sake.

FOR GRACE

GRANT that we here before Thee may be set free from the fear of  vicissitude and the fear of death, may finish what remains before  us of our course without dishonour to ourselves or hurt to others,  and, when the day comes, may die in peace.  Deliver us from fear  and favour:  from mean hopes and cheap pleasures.  Have mercy on  each in his deficiency; let him be not cast down; support the  stumbling on the way, and give at last rest to the weary.

AT MORNING

THE day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating  concerns and duties.  Help us to play the man, help us to perform  them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound with  industry.  Give us to go blithely on our business all this day,  bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonoured,  and grant us in the end the gift of sleep.

EVENING

WE come before Thee, O Lord, in the end of thy day with  thanksgiving.

Our beloved in the far parts of the earth, those who are now  beginning the labours of the day what time we end them, and those  with whom the sun now stands at the point of noon, bless, help,  console, and prosper them.

Our guard is relieved, the service of the day is over, and the hour  come to rest.  We resign into thy hands our sleeping bodies, our  cold hearths, and open doors.  Give us to awake with smiles, give  us to labour smiling.  As the sun returns in the east, so let our  patience be renewed with dawn; as the sun lightens the world, so  let our loving-kindness make bright this house of our habitation.

ANOTHER FOR EVENING

LORD, receive our supplications for this house, family, and  country.  Protect the innocent, restrain the greedy and the  treacherous, lead us out of our tribulation into a quiet land.

Look down upon ourselves and upon our absent dear ones.  Help us  and them; prolong our days in peace and honour.  Give us health,  food, bright weather, and light hearts.  In what we meditate of  evil, frustrate our will; in what of good, further our endeavours.   Cause injuries to be forgot and benefits to be remembered.

Let us lie down without fear and awake and arise with exultation.   For his sake, in whose words we now conclude.

IN TIME OF RAIN

WE thank Thee, Lord, for the glory of the late days and the  excellent face of thy sun.  We thank Thee for good news received.   We thank Thee for the pleasures we have enjoyed and for those we  have been able to confer.  And now, when the clouds gather and the  rain impends over the forest and our house, permit us not to be  cast down; let us not lose the savour of past mercies and past  pleasures; but, like the voice of a bird singing in the rain, let  grateful memory survive in the hour of darkness.  If there be in  front of us any painful duty, strengthen us with the grace of  courage; if any act of mercy, teach us tenderness and patience.

ANOTHER IN TIME OF RAIN

LORD, Thou sendest down rain upon the uncounted millions of the  forest, and givest the trees to drink exceedingly.  We are here  upon this isle a few handfuls of men, and how many myriads upon  myriads of stalwart trees!  Teach us the lesson of the trees.  The  sea around us, which this rain recruits, teems with the race of  fish; teach us, Lord, the meaning of the fishes.  Let us see  ourselves for what we are, one out of the countless number of the  clans of thy handiwork.  When we would despair, let us remember  that these also please and serve Thee.

BEFORE A TEMPORARY SEPARATION

TO-DAY we go forth separate, some of us to pleasure, some of us to  worship, some upon duty.  Go with us, our guide and angel; hold  Thou before us in our divided paths the mark of our low calling,  still to be true to what small best we can attain to.  Help us in  that, our maker, the dispenser of events - Thou, of the vast  designs, in which we blindly labour, suffer us to be so far  constant to ourselves and our beloved.

FOR FRIENDS

FOR our absent loved ones we implore thy loving-kindness.  Keep  them in life, keep them in growing honour; and for us, grant that  we remain worthy of their love.  For Christ's sake, let not our  beloved blush for us, nor we for them.  Grant us but that, and  grant us courage to endure lesser ills unshaken, and to accept  death, loss, and disappointment as it were straws upon the tide of  life.

FOR THE FAMILY

AID us, if it be thy will, in our concerns.  Have mercy on this  land and innocent people.  Help them who this day contend in  disappointment with their frailties.  Bless our family, bless our  forest house, bless our island helpers.  Thou who hast made for us  this place of ease and hope, accept and inflame our gratitude; help  us to repay, in service one to another, the debt of thine unmerited  benefits and mercies, so that, when the period of our stewardship  draws to a conclusion, when the windows begin to be darkened, when  the bond of the family is to be loosed, there shall be no  bitterness of remorse in our farewells.

Help us to look back on the long way that Thou hast brought us, on  the long days in which we have been served, not according to our  deserts, but our desires; on the pit and the miry clay, the  blackness of despair, the horror of misconduct, from which our feet  have been plucked out.  For our sins forgiven or prevented, for our  shame unpublished, we bless and thank Thee, O God.  Help us yet  again and ever.  So order events, so strengthen our frailty, as  that day by day we shall come before Thee with this song of  gratitude, and in the end we be dismissed with honour.  In their  weakness and their fear, the vessels of thy handiwork so pray to  Thee, so praise Thee.  Amen.

SUNDAY

WE beseech Thee, Lord, to behold us with favour, folk of many  families and nations gathered together in the peace of this roof,  weak men and women subsisting under the covert of thy patience.  Be  patient still; suffer us yet awhile longer; - with our broken  purposes of good, with our idle endeavours against evil, suffer us  awhile longer to endure, and (if it may be) help us to do better.   Bless to us our extraordinary mercies; if the day come when these  must be taken, brace us to play the man under affliction.  Be with  our friends, be with ourselves.  Go with each of us to rest; if any  awake, temper to them the dark hours of watching; and when the day  returns, return to us, our sun and comforter, and call us up with  morning faces and with morning hearts - eager to labour - eager to  be happy, if happiness shall be our portion - and if the day be  marked for sorrow, strong to endure it.

We thank Thee and praise Thee; and in the words of him to whom this  day is sacred, close our oblation.

FOR SELF-BLAME

LORD, enlighten us to see the beam that is in our own eye, and  blind us to the mote that is in our brother's.  Let us feel our  offences with our hands, make them great and bright before us like  the sun, make us eat them and drink them for our diet.  Blind us to  the offences of our beloved, cleanse them from our memories, take  them out of our mouths for ever.  Let all here before Thee carry  and measure with the false balances of love, and be in their own  eyes and in all conjunctures the most guilty.  Help us at the same  time with the grace of courage, that we be none of us cast down  when we sit lamenting amid the ruins of our happiness or our  integrity:  touch us with fire from the altar, that we may be up  and doing to rebuild our city:  in the name and by the method of  him in whose words of prayer we now conclude.

FOR SELF-FORGETFULNESS

LORD, the creatures of thy hand, thy disinherited children, come  before Thee with their incoherent wishes and regrets:  Children we  are, children we shall be, till our mother the earth hath fed upon  our bones.  Accept us, correct us, guide us, thy guilty innocents.   Dry our vain tears, wipe out our vain resentments, help our yet  vainer efforts.  If there be any here, sulking as children will,  deal with and enlighten him.  Make it day about that person, so  that he shall see himself and be ashamed.  Make it heaven about  him, Lord, by the only way to heaven, forgetfulness of self, and  make it day about his neighbours, so that they shall help, not  hinder him.

FOR RENEWAL OF JOY

WE are evil, O God, and help us to see it and amend.  We are good,  and help us to be better.  Look down upon thy servants with a  patient eye, even as Thou sendest sun and rain; look down, call  upon the dry bones, quicken, enliven; recreate in us the soul of  service, the spirit of peace; renew in us the sense of joy.

A Lowden Sabbath Morn

I

THE clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, Sounds far an' near, An' through the simmer kintry tells Its tale o' cheer.

II

An' noo, to that melodious play, A deidly awn the quiet sway - A' ken their solemn holiday, Bestial an' human, The singin' lintie on the brae, The restin' plou'man.

III

He, mair than a' the lave o' men, His week completit joys to ken; Half-dressed, he daunders out an' in, Perplext wi' leisure; An' his raxt limbs he'll rax again Wi' painfu' pleesure.

IV

The steerin' mither strang afit Noo shoos the bairnies but a bit; Noo cries them ben, their Sinday shuit To scart upon them, Or sweeties in their pouch to pit, Wi' blessin's on them.

V

The lasses, clean frae tap to taes, Are busked in crunklin' underclaes; The gartened hose, the weel-filled stays, The nakit shift, A' bleached on bonny greens for days, An' white's the drift.

VI

An' noo to face the kirkward mile The guidman's hat o' dacent style, The blackit shoon, we noon maun fyle As white's the miller: A waefu' peety tae, to spile The warth o' siller.

VII

Our Marg'et, aye sae keen to crack, Douce-stappin' in the stoury track, Her emeralt goun a' kiltit back Frae snawy coats, White-ankled, leads the kirkward pack Wi' Dauvit Groats.

VIII

A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks, A' spiled wi' lyin' by for weeks, The guidman follows closs, an' cleiks The sonsie misses; His sarious face at aince bespeaks The day that this is.

IX

And aye an' while we nearer draw To whaur the kirkton lies alaw, Mair neebours, comin' saft an' slaw Frae here an' there, The thicker thrang the gate, an' caw The stour in air.

X

But hark! the bells frae nearer clang To rowst the slaw, their sides they bang An' see! black coats a'ready thrang The green kirkyaird; And at the yett, the chestnuts spang That brocht the laird.

XI

The solemn elders at the plate Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state: The practised hands as gash an' great As Lords o' Session; The later named, a wee thing blate In their expression.

XII

The prentit stanes that mark the deid, Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read; Syne way a moraleesin' heid, An then an' there Their hirplin' practice an' their creed Try hard to square.

XIII

It's here our Merren lang has lain, A wee bewast the table-stane; An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane; An' further ower, The mither's brithers, dacent men! Lie a' the fower.

XIV

Here the guidman sall bide awee To dwall amang the deid; to see Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e; Belike to hear Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee On fancy's ear.

XV

Thus, on the day o' solemn things, The bell that in the steeple swings To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings Its walcome screed; An' just a wee thing nearer brings The quick an' deid.

XVI

But noo the bell is ringin' in; To tak their places, folk begin; The minister himsel' will shune Be up the gate, Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin An' man's estate.

XVII

The tunes are up - FRENCH, to be shure, The faithfu' FRENCH, an' twa-three mair; The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair, Wales out the portions, An' yirks the tune into the air Wi' queer contortions.

XVIII

Follows the prayer, the readin' next, An' than the fisslin' for the text - The twa-three last to find it, vext But kind o' proud; An' than the peppermints are raxed, An' southernwood.

XIX

For noo's the time whan pows are seen Nid-noddin' like a mandareen; When tenty mithers stap a preen In sleepin' weans; An' nearly half the parochine Forget their pains.

XX

There's just a waukrif' twa or three: Thrawn commentautors sweer to `gree, Weans glowrin' at the bumlin' bee On windie-glasses, Or lads that tak a keek a-glee At sonsie lasses.

XXI

Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box, The treesures of his words unlocks Wi' prodigality, An' deals some unco dingin' knocks To infidality.

XXII

Wi' snappy unction, hoo he burkes The hopes o' men that trust in works, Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks, An' shaws the best o' them No muckle better than mere Turks, When a's confessed o' them.

XXIII

Bethankit! what a bonny creed! What mair would ony Christian need? - The braw words rumm'le ower his heid, Nor steer the sleeper; And in their restin' graves, the deid Sleep aye the deeper.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It may be guessed by some that I had a certain parish in my eye,  and this makes it proper I should add a word of disclamation.  In  my time there have been two ministers in that parish.  Of the first  I have a special reason to speak well, even had there been any to  think ill.  The second I have often met in private and long (in the  due phrase) "sat under" in his church, and neither here nor there  have I heard an unkind or ugly word upon his lips.  The preacher of  the text had thus no original in that particular parish; but when I  was a boy he might have been observed in many others; he was then  (like the schoolmaster) abroad; and by recent advices, it would  seem he has not yet entirely disappeared.

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