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Then blesses that immortal day,
To greedy dogs—
Amang sic rogues.
Triumphant, glorious, Virtue's model,
For leaving hame,
Wha could her blame 1
Look to the sacrifices made—
What flow'ry hopes in dust were laid!
Then laud the game the worthies played,
Baith far and near, That faith and zeal by them displayed,
True and sincere.
Nae cursed ambition, lust o' gain,
Their lives can prove,
For truth and love.
Their Monthly Statements, when I see,
O could I half as gratefu' be
For favours past,
Or sae contented as the Free
Frae first to last!
They ken this warld is but a show,
And a' is vanity below;
Its glories fade as melts the snow,
Or flowers that die, And no worth having weel they know,
They but belie.
A better country they desire,
Like their auld douce and faithfu' Sire,
And joys that never shall expire,
But ever new;
They ken it's true.
But since they've left their wine and oil,
They see it plain;
For him in vain.
Ye wicked worthless, void o' grace,
To ane and a'.
And jink ye a'.
For mind the time is comin' roun',
Shall sing for joy,
And foes destroy.
Already Scotia's worth be praised,
For biggin' Zion—
Her saunts are crying.
Sae we'll hae routh o' kirks at last,
They're a' to Styx.
God speed the efforts o' thy ain,
Or fears annoy!
Soon forth wi' joy.
Lichts o' the warld, but wait a wee,
Then gaur as mony o' the Free
As e'er ye can
The safest plan.
Ne'er mind the country's cleishmaclavers,
Nae vile defamatory havers;
Heav'n crown your frugal, wise endeavours
Wi' great success. The mair ye get, ye reVrent savers,
Aye gie the less.
Ye little ken what ye may need
Aye how ye spend it:
Yet I'll defend it.
Heaven speed your fund o' Sustentation! Weel may it work throughout the nation; And may that worthy deputation
To foreign parts, Plead weel your cause in fine oration,
And move their hearts:
Yea, melt them a' to love and zeal,
By mony a lang and loud appeal,
And toom their pouches for your weal—
And why for not? Your ain ye emptied like a creel—
It's no forgot.
And O ye legates frae above,
Spur weel at hame—your cause is love:
Cry Give, Ke-give; ye weel can prove
It's for God's glory! Though aye the mair they to ye shove,
The better for ye.
Deil ane on earth can say ye nay,
Ne'er to deplore it,
Though they should borrow't.
To hae it back is just and right,
O wha daur say your loss was light 1
Then never rest baith day and night,
But urge your claim Upon the Free wi' a' your might,
And think nae shame.
Lay on your lash, and dinna spare,
I maun confess;
Ye ne'er transgress.
Ye godly few, tak nae excuse,