The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Holy Willie's Prayer

by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

For other versions of this work, see Holy Willie's Prayer.

Holy Willie's Prayer.

O Thou, wha in the heavens do dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best thysel',
Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell,
A' for thy glory,
And no for any gude or ill
They've done afore theeǃ

I bless and praise thy matchless might,
Whan thousands thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore thy sight,
For gifts and graces;
A burnin' and a shinin' light,
To a' this place.

What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation,
I wha deserve sic 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 plunged me in hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin lake,
Whar damned deevils 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, and example,
To a' thy flock.

O L—d thou kens what seal I bear,
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear,
And singin' there, and dancin' here,
Wi' great and sma':
For I am keepit by thy fear,
Free frae them a'.

But yet, O L—d, confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;
And sometimes too wi' wardly trust,
Vile self gets in:
But thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd in sin.

O L—d, yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg,
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may't ne'er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,
And I'll ne'er lift a lawless l-g
Again upon her.

Besides, I farther maun avow,
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times, I trow;
But L—d, that Friday I was fou,
When I came near her,
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true
Wad ne'er hae steer d her

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn
Beset thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn,
'Cause he's sae gifted;
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be born,
Until thou lift it.

L—d bless thy chosen in this place,
For here thou hast a chosen race;
But G-d confound their stubborn face,
And blast their name,
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace,
And public shame

L—d mind G—n H—n's deserts,
He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes,
Yet has sae mony takin arts,
Wi' grit and sma',
Frae G-d's ain priests the people's hearts
He steals awa.

And when we chasten'd him therefor,
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.

L—d hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
Against the Presbyt'ry of Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, L—d, make it bare
Upo' their heads,
L—d weigh it down, and dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.

O L—d, my G—d, that glib-tongu'd A—n.
My very heart and saul are quakin,
To think how I stood sweatin, shakin,
And p—d wi' dread,
While he, wi' hingin lips, and snakin,
Held up his head.

L—d in the day of vengeance try him,
L—d visit there wha did employ him,
And pass not in the mercy by m,
Nor hear their pray'r,
But fer thy people's sake destroy 'm,
And dinna spare.

But, L—d remember me and mine
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine,
That I for gear and grace may shine,
Excell'd by nane,
And a' the glory shall be thine.
Amen, Amen.

 

Divider from 'The Beauties of Burn's Poems' a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819