That I am here afore Thy sight,
For gifts an' grace

A burning and a shining light

To a' this place.

What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation,
I wha deserve most just damnation
For broken laws,

Five thousand years ere my creation,
'Thro' Adam's cause.

When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plungèd me in hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin lakes,

Where damned devils roar and yell,

Chain'd to their stakes.

Yet I am here a chosen sample,

To show thy grace is great and ample ;
I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,

Strong as a rock,

A guide, a buckler, and example,

To a' thy flock.

O L-d, Thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,

it "by far the most reprehensible of Burns' pieces, and one which should never have been written." Cunningham timidly shelters himself behind the words of Sir Walter Scott, by calling it a "too daring poem," and "a piece of satire more exquisitely severe than any which Burns ever afterwards wrote." Chambers describes it as "a satire nominally aimed at Holy Willie, but in reality a burlesque of the extreme doctrinal views of the party to which that hypocrite belonged." Many will agree with Sir Harris Nicolas in saying that "the reverend admirers of the poem appear to have com. pounded with their consciences for being pleased with a piece showing little veneration for religion itself, because it ridicules the mistaken zeal of an opposite sect."

An' singin' there, an' 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 fashed * wi' fleshly lust :
An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;

But Thou remembers we are dust,

Defil'd wi' sin.

O L-d! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' MegThy pardon I sincerely beg,

O! may't ne'er be a livin plague

To my dishonour,

An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg

Again upon her.

Besides, I farther maun allow,

Wi' Leezie's lass three times I trow

But L-d, that Friday I was fou,

When I cam near her;

Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true

Wad never steer her.

Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn

Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn,

Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn,
That 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 :

* troubled.

But G-d confound their stubborn face,

An' blast their name,

Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace

An' public shame.

L-d, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts;
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts,
Yet has sae mony takin arts,

Wi' great and sma',

Frae G-d's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa.

An' when we chasten'd him therefor,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,*
An' set the warld in a roar

O' laughing at us ;—

Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an' potatoes.

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

Against that Presbyt❜ry o' Ayr;

Thy strong right hand, L-d, make it bare Upo' their heads;

L-d visit them, an' dinna

spare,

For their misdeeds.

O L-d, my G-d! that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
My vera heart and flesh are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,

An' p-'d wi' dread,

While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin,t

Held up his head.

L-d, in Thy day o' vengeance try him,
L-d, visit them wha did employ him,

* disturbance.

† exulting and sneering.

And pass not in Thy mercy by them,

Nor hear their pray'r,

But for Thy people's sake destroy them,
An' dinna spare.

But, L-d, remember me an' mine
Wi' mercies temporal an' divine,
That I for grace an' gear may shine,

Excell'd by nane,

And a' the glory shall be thine,

Amen, Amen!

[The "Argument," or introduction, printed at the head of this pcem, is from the bard's own pen. The "sessional process " referred to commenced in August 1784, when the name of Gavin Hamilton, friend and landlord of the poet, was included in a list of members who were threatened to be debarred from the communion table for " habitual neglect of church ordinances." Hamilton addressed a letter to the kirk session, telling them that they had no just grounds of offence against him, and that they must be conscious of proceeding purely on "private pique and ill-nature.” Hamilton finding the kirk session obstinate, and inclined to treat him still more offensively, appealed to the presbytery of Ayr for protection, and in January 1785, he obtained a decree of that court ordering the erasure of the session minutes complained of. It was at this stage-as we apprehend-that the muse of Burns "overheard Holy Willie at his devotions; " but that person. did not content himself with " prayers" merely, for Auld and his confederates refused to obey the presbyterial order, and made appeal to the Synod. The process there did not close till July 1785, when the affair was compromised by Hamilton's acceptance of a certificate from his kirk session granting him to be "free from all ground of church censure.'

age

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 have nane;
Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
And mercy's day is gane.

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.

[The name of the hero of this and the preceding satire was William Fisher, a leading elder in the parish church of Mauchline. It appears that the sins of the hoary hypocrite found him out. He died in a ditch by the road. side, into which he had fallen on his way home from a debauch. Father Auld and he repose in Mauchline kirkyard, almost side by side.]

DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK.

A TRUE STORY.

SOME books are lies frae end to end,

And some great lies were never penn'd :
Ev'n ministers they hae been kenn'd,

In holy rapture,

A rousing whid * at times to vend,

And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true's the Deil's in hell

Or Dublin city:

That e'er he nearer comes oursel
'S a muckle pity.

* fib.