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FIRST SIX VERSES
NIN E TIETH PSA L M.
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend
Of all the human race !
Whose strong right-hand has ever been
Before the mountains heay'd their heads
Beneath Thy forming hand, Before this pond'rous globe itself,
Arose at Thy command;
That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds
This universal frame,
Was ever still the fame.
Those mighty periods of years
Which seem to us so vast, Appear no more before Thy fight
Than yesterday that's past.
Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought ;
• Return ye into nought!'
Thou layeft them, with all their cares,
In everlaiting leep;
With overwhelming sweep.
They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;
All wither'd and decay'd.
On turning one down, with the Plough, in
WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thy slender stem,
Alas! its no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet !
Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-fpringing, blythe, to greet
The purpling Eaft.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting North
Amid the storm,
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow'rs our Gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; But thou, beneath the random bield
O'clod or ftane, Adorns the hiftie ftibble-field,