16 For out of the shall people rise,
With divers happiness;
And yet a pen can scarcely write,
Thy hurt, skaith, and distress,
17 And yet beware thou not distrust,
Altho’ o’erwhelm’d with grief,
Thy stroke is not perpetual,
For thou shall find relief.
18 I do suppose, altho’ too late,
Old prophecies shall hold,
Hope thou in God’s goodness evermore,
And mercies manifold.
19 For thou that now a patient is,
And seemeth to be bound;
At liberty shall free be set,
And with empire be crown’d.
25 From high above shall grace come down,
And thy state, Scotland, be,
In later ends, more prosperous
Than former age did see.
21 Old prophecies foretell to thee,
A warlike heir he’s born,
Who shall recover now your right,
Advance this kingdom’s horn.
22 Then shall fair Scotland be advanc d
Above her enemies power;
Her cruel foes shall be dispers’d,
And scatter’d from her bower.
