What was I, or my generation,
That I should get such exaltation,

I wha deserve sic just damnation,

Thou might ha'e 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 L-d! 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.

Besides, I farther maun allow,
Wi' Lizie's lass, three times I trow;
But, L-d, that Friday I was fow,

When I came near her,

Or else, thou kens, thy servant true

Wad ne'er ha'e 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,

An' public shame.

L-d mind G***n H******n's deserts,
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts,
Yet has sae mony takin' arts,

Wi' grit an' sma',

Frae G-d an' 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 an' potatoes.

L-d, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r,

Against that presbyt❜ry o' 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 an' saul are quakin',

To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',

An' 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 them wha did employ him,
An' 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,

That I for gear

and grace may shine,

Excell'd by nane,

An' a' the glory shall be thine,

Amen, Amen!

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,

Pour 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 ha'd your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance you've heard my story.

N