| 1. |
| O Thou that in the Heavens does dwell, |
| Wha, as it pleases best Thysel, |
| Sends ane to Heaven an’ ten to Hell |
|
A’ for Thy glory, |
| And no for onie guid or ill |
They’ve done before Thee !
|
| 2. |
| I bless and praise Thy matchless might, |
| When thousands Thou hast left in night, |
| That I am here before Thy sight, |
|
For gifts an’ grace |
| A burning and a shining light |
To a’ this place.
|
| 3. |
| What was I, or my generation, |
| That I should get sic exaltation ? |
| I, wha deserv’d most just damnation |
|
For broken laws |
| Sax thousand years ere my creation, |
Thro’ Adam’s cause !
|
| 4. |
| When from my mither’s womb I fell, |
| Thou might hae plung’d me deep in hell |
| To gnash my gooms, and weep, and wail |
|
In burning lakes, |
| Whare damnèd devils roar and yell, |
Chain’d to their stakes.
|
| 5. |
| Yet I am here, a chosen sample, |
| To show Thy grace is great and ample : |
| I’m here a pillar o’ Thy temple, |
|
Strong as a rock, |
| A guide, a buckler, and example |
To a’ Thy flock !
|
| 6. |
| But yet, O Lord ! confess I must : |
| At times I’m fash’d wi fleshly lust ; |
| An’ sometimes, too, in warldly trust, |
|
Vile self gets in ; |
| But Thou remembers we are dust, |
Defiled wi’ sin.
|
| 7. |
| O Lord ! yestreen, Thou kens, wi’ Meg― |
| Thy pardon I sincerely beg― |
| O, may’t ne’er be a living plague |
|
To my dishonour ! |
| An’ I’ll ne’er lift a lawless leg |
Again upon her.
|
| 8. |
| Besides, I farther maun avow― |
| Wi’ Leezie’s lass, three times, I trow― |
| But, Lord, that Friday I was fou, |
|
When I cam near her, |
| Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true |
Wad never steer her.
|
| 9. |
| Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn |
| Buffet Thy servant e’en and morn, |
| Lest he owre proud and high should turn |
|
That he’s sae gifted : |
| If sae, Thy han’ maun e’en be borne |
Until Thou lift it.
|
| 10. |
| Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, |
| For here Thou has a chosen race ! |
| But God confound their stubborn face |
|
An’ blast their name, |
| Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace |
An’ open shame !
|
| 11. |
| Lord, mind Gau’n Hamilton’s deserts : |
| He drinks, an’ swears, an’ plays at
cartes, |
| Yet has sae monie takin arts |
|
Wi’ great and sma’, |
| Frae God’s ain Priest the people’s
hearts |
He steals awa.
|
| 12. |
| And when we chasten’d him therefore, |
| Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, |
| And set the warld in a roar |
|
O’ laughin at us : |
| Curse Thou his basket and his store, |
Kail an’ potatoes !
|
| 13. |
| Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray’r |
| Against that Presbyt’re of Ayr ! |
| Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it
bare |
|
Upo’ their heads ! |
| Lord, visit them, an’ dinna spare, |
For their misdeeds !
|
| 14. |
| O Lord, my God ! that glib-tongu’d
Aiken, |
| My vera heart and flesh are quakin |
| To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, |
|
An’ pish’d wi’ dread, |
| While he, wi’ hingin lip an’ snaking, |
Held up his head.
|
| 15. |
| Lord, in Thy day o’ vengeance try him ! |
| Lord, visit him wha did employ him ! |
| And pass not in Thy mercy by them |
|
Nor hear their pray’r, |
| But for Thy people’s sake destroy them, |
An’ dinna spare !
|
| 16. |
| But, Lord, remember me and mine |
| Wi’ mercies temporal and divine, |
| That I for grace an’ gear may shine |
|
Excell’d by nane ; |
| And a’ the glory shall be Thine― |
Amen, Amen !
|
| Robert Burns
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
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