Poems, Volume 1

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trustees of the late James Morison, 1811
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Page 187 - The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha-Bible, ance his father's pride; His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God!
Page 189 - Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise. In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Page 6 - I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, An' mony a time my heart's been wae, Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's snash : He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, An' hear it a', an' fear and tremble ! I see how folk live that hae riches: But surely poor folk maun be wretches.
Page 190 - Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's every grace...
Page 188 - With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
Page 78 - When Masons' mystic word an' grip, In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell! The youngest Brother ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An...
Page 272 - And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And showers began to fall : John Barleycorn got up again.
Page 123 - tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Page 186 - Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi...
Page 196 - So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful tho' a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn.

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