Poems and Songs of Robert Burns. Robert Burns

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Poems and Songs of Robert Burns - Robert Burns

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      The wintry west extends his blast,

       And hail and rain does blaw;

       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,

       Here firm I rest; they must be best,

       Because they are Thy will!

       Then all I want—O do Thou grant

       This one request of mine!—

       Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,

       Assist me to resign.

       Table of Contents

      O Thou Great Being! what Thou art,

       Surpasses me to know;

       Yet sure I am, that known to Thee

       Are all Thy works below.

       Thy creature here before Thee stands,

       All wretched and distrest;

       Yet sure those ills that wring my soul

       Obey Thy high behest.

       Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act

       From cruelty or wrath!

       O, free my weary eyes from tears,

       Or close them fast in death!

       But, if I must afflicted be,

       To suit some wise design,

       Then man my soul with firm resolves,

       To bear and not repine!

       Table of Contents

      The man, in life wherever plac'd,

       Hath happiness in store,

       Who walks not in the wicked's way,

       Nor learns their guilty lore!

       Nor from the seat of scornful pride

       Casts forth his eyes abroad,

       But with humility and awe

       Still walks before his God.

       That man shall flourish like the trees,

       Which by the streamlets grow;

       The fruitful top is spread on high,

       And firm the root below.

       But he whose blossom buds in guilt

       Shall to the ground be cast,

       And, like the rootless stubble, tost

       Before the sweeping blast.

       For why? that God the good adore,

       Hath giv'n them peace and rest,

       But hath decreed that wicked men

       Shall ne'er be truly blest.

       Table of Contents

      O Thou, the first, the greatest friend

       Of all the human race!

       Whose strong right hand has ever been

       Their stay and dwelling place!

       Before the mountains heav'd their heads

       Beneath Thy forming hand,

       Before this ponderous globe itself

       Arose at Thy command;

       That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds

       This universal frame,

       From countless, unbeginning time

       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,

       Is to existence brought;

       Again Thou say'st, “Ye sons of men,

       Return ye into nought!”

       Thou layest them, with all their cares,

       In everlasting sleep;

       As with a flood Thou tak'st them off

       With overwhelming sweep.

       They flourish like the morning flow'r,

      

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