With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, To rule their torrent in th' allowed line; VERSES, LEFT BY THE AUTHOR AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. I. O THOU, dread Pow'r, who reign'st above; I know thou wilt me hear, When, for this scene of peace and love II. The hoary sire, the mortal stroke, To bless his little filial flock, And show what good men are. III. She, who her lovely offspring eyes IV. Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, In manhood's dawning blush; Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 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, A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. O THOU, who kindly dost provide We bless thee, God of Nature wide And if it please thee, heav'nly Guide, But whether granted or denied, Amen THE FIRST PSALM. THE man in life, wherever plac'd, Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor from the seat of scornful pride But with humility and awe Still walks before his God. That man sha:l 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, For why? That God, the good adore, THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. O THOU, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever been Before the mountains heav'd their heads Before this pond'rous globe itself Arose at thy command; That Pow'r which rais'd, and still upholds This universal frame, From countless, unbeginning time, Was ever still the same. Those mighty periods of years Which seem to us so vast, Thou giv'st the word-thy creature, man, Again thou say'st, "Ye sons of men, Return ye into nought!" Thou layest them, with all their cares, In everlasting sleep; As with a flood Thou tak'st them off With overwhelming sweep. They flourish like the morning flow'r, But long ere night, cut down, it lies EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. I. 1 LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, III. I'll no say men are villains a'; The real, harden'd, wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law |