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.

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
Their stay and dwelling-place!

Before the mountains heav'd their heads

Beneath thy forming hand,

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,

Appear no more before thy sight
Than yesterday that 's past.

Thou giv'st the word: thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought:

Again, thou sayest, 'Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!'

Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep :

As with a flood thou test them off

With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ere night cut down it lies
All wither'd and decay'd.

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.

O THOU, who kindly dost provide
For every creature's want!
We bless thee, God of Nature wide,
For all thy goodness lent :

And, if it please thee, heavenly Guide,
May never worse be sent;

But whether granted or denied,

Lord, bless us with content.-Amen.

VERSE

Written in Friar's-Carse Hermitage on Nith-side.
THOU whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deck'd in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul !-
Life is but a day at most,
Sprung from night, in darkness lost;
Hope not sunshine every hour,
Fear not clouds will always low'r.

As youth and love with sprightly dance, Beneath thy morning-star advance, Pleasure, with her syren air, May delude the thoughtless pair; Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up.

As thy day grows warm and high, Life's meridian flaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale? Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? Check thy climbing step, elate,

Evils lurk in felon wait;

Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold,
Soar around each cliffy hold;
While cheerful peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among.e

As the shades of ev'ning close,
Beck'ning thee to long repose;
As life itself becomes disease,
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease;
There, ruminate with sober thought,

On all thou 'st seen, and heard, and wrought;
And teach the sportive younkers round,

Saws of experience, sage and sound.
Say, 'Man's true, genuine estimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,
Is not, Art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Did many talents gild thy span?
Or frugal nature grudge thee one?'
Tell them, and press it on their mind,
As thou thyself must shortly find,
The smile or frown of awful Heaven,
To virtue or to vice is giv'n.

Say, To be just, and kind, and wise,
There solid self-enjoyment lies;
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base.'
Thus resign'd and quiet creep
To the bed of lasting sleep;
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
Night, where dawn shall never break,
Till future life-future no more,
To light and joy and good restore-
To light and joy unknown before!
Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide!
Quoth the Beadsman of Nith-side.

See 'Grongar Hill,' a Poem by Dyer.

WINTER.-A DIRGE.

THE wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:

While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;

And bird and beast in covert rest

And pass the heartless day.

'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"
The joyless winter-day,

Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join,

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

Thou, Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil,

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy Will!

Then all I want (O, do thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy thou dost deny

Assist me to resign.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.-A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast

Made fields and forests bare,

One ev❜ning, as I wander'd forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spy'd a man, whose aged step
Seem'd weary, worn with care;
His face was furrow'd o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

f Dr. Young.

'Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ? Began the rev'rend sage;

'Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage!

Or, haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me to mourn
The miseries of man!

The sun that over-hangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride!
I've seen yon weary winter-sun
Twice forty times return;
And ev'ry time has added proofs

That man was made to mourn.
O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Mispending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

'Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;

Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:

But see him on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn,

Then age and want, oh! ill-match'd pair!
Shew man was made to mourn.

A few seem favourites of Fate,
In Pleasure's lap carest;

Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.