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Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray, Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,
Guide Thou their steps alway!
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!
A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.
O Thou, who kindly dost provide
For ev'ry creature's want!
For all thy goodness lent:
And if it please thee, heav'nly Guide,
May never worse be sent ;
محمد، الحنيطع عمله هله بكم أحبته. ما د عملیاتی هم مدد مله عبرعه:هلاساسي للمصعدش مهر جامعه مد.میام دهه مثل همید همه
BORNS S POEMS.
THE FIRST PSALM.
The man in life, wherever plac'd,
Hath happiness in store,
Nor learns their guilty lore !
Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,
Still walks before his God.
That man sha:l flourish like the trees
Which by the streamlets grow;
And firm the root below.
But he whose blossom buds in guilt,
Shall to the ground be cast,
Before the sweeping blast.
For why ? - That God, the good adore,
Hath giv'n them peace and rest,
Shall ne'er be truly blest.
THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETI
Of all the human race !
Their stay and dwelling place!
Before the mountains heav'd their heads
Beneath thy forming hand,
Arose at thy command;
That Pow'r which rais'd, and still upholds
This universal frame,
Was ever still the same.
Those mighty periods of years
Which seem to us so vast,
Than yesterday that's past.
Thou giv'st the word – thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought ;
Return ye into nought ! ”
Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;
With overwhelming sweep.
* You Mw" Www
They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd ;
All wither'd and decay'd.
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.
| LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to have sent you,
Than just a kind memento;
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps turn out a sermon.
Ye'll try the world soon, my lad,
And Andrew, dear, believe me,
And muckle they may grieve ye!
Ev'n when your end's attained;
When ev'ry nerve is strained.
I'll no say men are villains a';
The real, harden'd, wicked,
Are to a few restricked
But och! mankind are unco weak,
An' little to be trusted ;
It's rarely right adjusted !
Yet they wha fa’ in fortune's strife,
Their fate we should na censure For still th' important end of life
They equally may answer;
Tho’ poortith hourly stare him;
Yet hae na cash to spare him.
Ay free, aff han', your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony ; But still keep something to yoursel,
Ye'll scarcely tell to ony.
Frae critical dissection;
Wi’ sharpen'd, sly inspection.
The sacred lowe o weel-plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
Tho' naething should divulge it; I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard o' concealing , But och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!