O how shall I, unskilfu', try
The Poet's occupation?
The tunefu' Powers, in happy hours,
That whisper, inspiration,

Even they maun dare an effort mair
Than aught they ever gave us,
Or they rehearse in equal verse
The charms o' lovely Davies.—

Each eye it chears when she appears,
Like Phebus in the morning,
When past the shower, and every flower
The garden is adorning:
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore,
When winter-bound the wave is;
Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae charming, lovely Davies.—

Thrice happie Roses, so much grac't, to have
Within the Bosome of my Love your grave.
Die when ye will, your sepulchre is knowne,
Your Grave her Bosome is, the Lawne the Stone.

Had the gods loved me I had lain
Where darnel is, and thorn,
And the wild night-bird's nightlong strain
Trembles in boughs forlorn.

Nay, but they loved me not; and I
Must needs a stranger be,
Whose every exiled day gone by
Aches with their memory.

At first I prayed for Light:—
Could I but see the way,
How gladly, swiftly would I walk
To everlasting day!

And next I prayed for Strength:—
That I might tread the road
With firm unfaltering feet, and win
The heaven's serene abode.

And then I asked for Faith:—
Could I but trust my God,
I'd live enfolded in his peace,
Though foes were all abroad.

But now I pray for Love;
Deep love to God and man;
A living love that will not fail,
However dark his plan;—

And Light and Strength and Faith
Are opening everywhere!

She loved him—but she heeded not—
Her heart had only room for pride:
All other feelings were forgot,
When she became another's bride.
As from a dream she then awoke,
To realize her lonely state,
And own it was the vow she broke
That made her drear and desolate!

She loved him—but the sland'rer came,
With words of hate that all believed;
A stain thus rested on his name—
But he was wronged and she deceived;
Ah! rash the act that gave her hand,
That drove her lover from her side—
Who hied him to a distant land,

O Saviour, loving Saviour, we hear thee gently calling
Us forth to the vineyard to labor for thee;
“Go preach to ev'ry nation,” thou hast to us commanded,
Oh, give us thy spirit, more faithful to be.
O Saviour, loving Saviour, thy message of salvation
Is free unto all who on thee will believe;
But millions yet in darkness are bowing to their idols,
Oh, may they awaken, thy grace to receive.
We are ready, dear Saviour! with zeal now enkindle
These hearts to thy service, and show us the way;
May thy spirit, overflowing, baptize us with fullness

Last night we sailed, my love and I,
Last night and years ago—
Was it moon or sea, we drifted through?
I think I shall never know!
We had no oar—
We neared no shore—
We floated with the tide;
The moon was white,
And the sea alight,
And none in the world beside.

I and my love, we said farewell—
It is years and years away.
We kissed our last in a life gone by—
I think it was yesterday!
Oh! for heaven, give me
A moon and a sea
To sail, when we both have died,
With never an oar—
With never a shore—
Drifting on with the tide!

My deerest Mistrisse, let us live and love,
And care not what old doting fooles reprove.
Let us not feare their sensures, nor esteeme,
What they of us and of our loves shall deeme.
Old ages critticke and sensorious brow
Cannot of youthfull dalliance alow,
Nor never could endure that wee should tast,
Of those delights which they themselves are past.

My hand from my Beloved's skirt I cannot take away,
Though with a sword she smite me sharp, and, in her anger, slay:
I have no place of sheltering, no refuge half so sweet;
If I should fly 'twould only be to creep back to her feet.

Weary perhaps of dolorous love,
The cat has stol'n a bit to eat.