O Thou, great Governor of all below! To rule their torrent in th' allowéd line; THE FIRST PSALM. THE man in life, wherever placed, Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor from the seat of scornful pride Still walks before his God. That man shall flourish like the trees But he whose blossom buds in guilt, For why? That God, the good adore, THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE 90TH PSALM. O THOU, the first, the greatest Friend Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever been Before the mountains heaved their heads That Power which raised and still upholds Was ever still the same. Those mighty periods of years Which seem to us so vast, Appear no more before thy sight Than yesterday that's past. Thou giv'st the word: thy creature, man, Again, thou sayest, "Ye sons of men, Thou layest them, with all their cares, As with a flood thou tak'st them off They flourish like the morning flower, A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. O THOU, who kindly dost provide And, if it please thee, heavenly Guide, May never worse be sent; But whether granted or denied, Lord, bless us with content.-Amen. VERSE Written in Friar's-Carse Hermitage on Nith-side. THOU whom chance may hither lead, Sprung from night, in darkness lost; As youth and love with sprightly dance, May delude the thoughtless pair; As thy day grows warm and high, Dost thou spurn the humble vale? Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? Check thy climbing step, elate. Evils lurk in felon wait; Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold Soar around each cliffy hold; While cheerful peace, with linnet song, As the shades of evening close, On all thou 'st seen, and heard, and wrought; And teach the sportive younkers round, Saws of experience, sage and sound. Say, "Man's true, genuine estimate, 1 See "Grongar Hill," a Poem by Dyer. Or frugal nature grudge thee one?" Say, "To be just, and kind, and wise, Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, WINTER-A DIRGE. THE wintry west extends his blast, Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw: While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest And pass the heartless day. "The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"" The joyless winter-day, Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May: The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine! • Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, 1 Dr. Young. Here, firm, I rest-they must be best, Since to enjoy thou dost deny, MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.-A DIRGE. WHEN chill November's surly blast I spied a man, whose aged step "Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?" Began the reverend sage; "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, To wander forth with me to mourn "The sun that overhangs yon moors, "Oman! while in thy early years, Misspending all thy precious hours, |