The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow :
Come, let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly:
I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal showers to budding flowers,
Not autumn to the farmer,

So dear can be as thou to me,
My fair, my lovely charmer!

INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMBSTONE OF
WILLIAM BURNESS.

OH ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains,

Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father, and the gen'rous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human wo;

The dauntless heart that feared no human pride;

The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;

"For even his failings leaned to virtue's side."

A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.

OH thou unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wandered in those paths
Of life I ought to shun,

As something, loudly, in my breast,
Remonstrates I have done;

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And listening to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty stept aside,

Do thou, All-good!

- for such thou art, ·

In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION.

WHY

HY am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing

storms:

Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ?

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry God,

And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod.

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence!" Fain promise never more to disobey;

But should my Author health again dispense, Again I might desert fair Virtue's way : Again in Folly's path might go astray;

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man; Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan? Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to temptation ran ?

Oh Thou, great Governor of all below!

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, Or still the tumult of the raging sea : With that controlling power assist even me

Those headlong furious passions to confine; For all unfit I feel my powers to be,

To rule their torrent in the allowed line; Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine !1

THE FIRST PSALM.

THE man, in life wherever placed,
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.

1 In Mr. Dick's MS. is apparently an earlier copy of this poem, containing some variations expressive of deeper contrition than what here appears. After "Again I might desert fair Virtue's way," comes, "Again by passion would be led astray." The second line of the last stanza is, If one so black with crimes dare on thee call."

For why? that God the good adore
Hath given them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM.

OH 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 heaved their heads

Beneath thy forming hand, Before this ponderous globe itself

Arose at Thy command;

That Power which raised 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;