136
THE POEMS OF BURNS.
What was I, or my generation,
That I should get such exaltation?
I, wha deserve such just damnation,
For broken laws,
Five thousand years 'fore my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause.
That I should get such exaltation?
I, wha deserve such just damnation,
For broken laws,
Five thousand years 'fore my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause.
When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung'd me into Hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin' lake,
Where damned Devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to a stake.
Thou might hae plung'd me into Hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin' lake,
Where damned Devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to a stake.
Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar in thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, an example
To a' thy flock.
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar in thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, an example
To a' thy flock.
O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear,
And singin there and dancin here,
Wi' great an' sma':
For I am keepit by thy fear,
Free frae them a'.
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear,
And singin there and dancin here,
Wi' great an' sma':
For I am keepit by thy fear,
Free frae them a'.
But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust,
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd in sin.
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust,
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd in sin.
O Lord! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg—
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may it ne'er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may it ne'er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.
Besides I farther maun allow,
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow;
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
When I came near her,
Or else thou kens thy servant true
Wad ne'er hae steer'd her.
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow;
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
When I came near her,
Or else thou kens thy servant true
Wad ne'er hae steer'd her.
May be thou lets this fleshly thorn
Beset thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre high and proud should turn,
'Cause he's sae gifted;
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne,
Until thou lift it.
Beset thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre high and proud should turn,
'Cause he's sae gifted;
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne,
Until thou lift it.
Lord, bless thy chosen in this place,
For here thou hast a chosen race;
But God confound their stubborn face,
And blast their name,
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace,
An' public shame.
For here thou hast a chosen race;
But God confound their stubborn face,
And blast their name,
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace,
An' public shame.
Lord, mind Gavin Hamilton's deserts,
He drinks, an' swears, an plays at cartes,
Yet has sae monie takin arts,
Wi' grit an' sma',
Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa'.
He drinks, an' swears, an plays at cartes,
Yet has sae monie takin arts,
Wi' grit an' sma',
Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa'.
An' whan we chasten'd him therefore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
As set the warld in a roar
O' laughin at us;
Curse thou his basket and his store,
Kail and potatoes.
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
As set the warld in a roar
O' laughin at us;
Curse thou his basket and his store,
Kail and potatoes.
Lord, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare,
Upo' their heads;
Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare,
Upo' their heads;
Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.
O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
My very heart and soul are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,
An' p—d wi' dread,
While he, wi' hingin lips an' snakin'
Held up his head.
My very heart and soul are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,
An' p—d wi' dread,
While he, wi' hingin lips an' snakin'
Held up his head.
