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 |
|
[ A Red, Red Rose ] [ To a Mountain Daisy ] [ Address to a Haggis ] [ Address to Edinburgh ] [ Auld Lang Syne ] [ Is there for Honest Poverty ] [ Address to the Unco Guid ] [ The Cotter's Saturday Night ] [ To a Louse ] [ My Heart's in the Highlands ] [ Holy Willie's Prayer ] [ Tam O'Shanter ] [ To a Mouse ] |