O Thou, great Governor of all below!

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,

When for this scene of peace and love, I make my prayer sincere,

II.

The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleased to spare,
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.

III.

She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

IV.

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush;
Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!

V.

The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,
Guide thou their steps alway!

VI.

When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driv❜n,
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in Heav'n!

THE FIRST PSALM.

THE man, in life wherever placed, Hath happiness in store,

blow,

Or still the tumult of the raging sea; With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, Those headlong furious passions to confine;

For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be,

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line!

O aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine!

LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE Author left THE FOLLOWING

VERSES,

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.

I.

O THOU dread Pow'r, who reign'st above, I know thou wilt me hear,

Nor learns their guilty lore!

Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,
But with humility and awe

Still walks before his God,

That man shall flourish like the trees Which by the streamlets grow; The fruitful top is spread on high,

And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.

For why? that GOD the good adore
Hath giv'n them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

Aye free aff han' your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony ;
But still keep something to yoursel'
Ye scarcely tell to ony.
Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can

Frae critical dissection;

But keek thro' every other man,
Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection.
VI.
The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th' illicit rove,

Tho' naething should divulge it :
I wave the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!

VII.

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, Assiduous wait upon her;

For now he's ta'en anither shore,
An' owre the ses