Read Season 1781 of Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns, free online book, by Robert Burns, on ReadCentral.com.

Winter:  A Dirge.

     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.

Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish.

     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!

Paraphrase Of The First Psalm.

     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.

First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified, The.

     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,
     In beauty’s pride array’d;
     But long ere night cut down it lies
     All wither’d and decay’d.

Prayer, In The Prospect Of Death.

     O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause
     Of all my hope and fear! 
     In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
     Perhaps I must appear!

     If I have wander’d 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 list’ning 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 err’d,
     No other plea I have,
     But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
     Delighteth to forgive.

Stanzas, On The Same Occasion.

     Why 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 part 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 mourn’d, yet to temptation ran?

     O 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 pow’r assist ev’n me,
     Those headlong furious passions to confine,
     For all unfit I feel my pow’rs to be,
     To rule their torrent in th’ allowed line;
     O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine!