HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.

O THOU, Wha in the heavens dost dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best thysel',

Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell,
A' for thy glory,

And no for ony gude or ill

They've done afore thee!

I bless and praise thy matchless might, Whan thousands thou hast left in night, That I am here afore thy sight,

For gifts and grace,

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,

Five thousand

For broken laws,

years 'fore my creation,

Thro' Adam's cause.

When frae

mither's womb I fell,

my

Thou might hae plunged me in hell,

To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin' lake,

Whar 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.

But yet, O Ld! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;
And sometimes, too, wi warldly trust,

Vile self gets in ;

But thou remembers we are dust,

Defil'd in sin.

Besides, I farther maun allow,

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 should turn, 'Cause he's sae gifted;

If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne,
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 Gawn Hamilton's deserts,
He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts,
Yet has sae mony takin' arts,

Wi' grit and sma',

Frae G-d's ain priests 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.

L-d, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
Against the presbyt❜ry of Ayr;

Thy strong right hand, L-d, mak 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 Aiken,
My very heart and saul are quakin',
To think how we stood groanin, shakin',

And swat 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 them wha did employ him,
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em,

Nor hear their pray'r;

But for thy people's sake destroy 'em,
And dinna spare.

But, L-d, remember me and mine,

Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine,

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay
Taks up its last abode ;

His saul has ta'en some other way,
I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
Poor, silly body, see him;
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun
Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,

For pity ye hae nane;
Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
And mercy's day is gaen.

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are,
Look something to your credit;

A coof like him wad stain your name,
If it were kent ye did it.