Then blesses that immortal day, To greedy dogs Nae langer could the chosen stay Triumphant, glorious, Virtue's model, Though back she glowered as she did toddle- Look to the sacrifices made What flow'ry hopes in dust were laid! That faith and zeal by them displayed, True and sincere. Nae cursed ambition, lust o' gain, Their lives can prove, Their Monthly Statements, when I see, C 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, Its glories fade as melts the snow, And no worth having weel they know, A better country they desire, Like their auld douce and faithfu' Sire, And joys that never shall expire, But ever new: Nae other bliss their bosoms fire They ken it's true. But since they've left their wine and oil, Their stainless honour not to soil, Some think their pat will purely boil They soon may on ye turn the chase, For mind the time is comin' roun', When they wha grace the sacred gown, And wear blessed Freedom's glorious crown, Shall sing for joy, And crush a' opposition down, And foes destroy. Already Scotia's worth be praised, Wha soon nae mair will be abased, Sae we'll hae routh o' kirks at last, Wi' interdicts— Nor cursed decrees by hell-hounds pastThey're a' to Styx. God speed the efforts o' thy ain, They'll bring their capestane, it is plain, Lichts o' the warld, but wait a wee, And meanwhile tak advice frae me, As e'er ye can Big their ain kirks, and naething gie- Ne'er mind the country's cleishmaclavers, Heav'n crown your frugal, wise endeavours The mair ye get, ye rev'rent savers, Ye little ken what ye may need Though foes misca' it holy greed, 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: Though aye the mair they to ye shove, Deil ane on earth can say ye nay, But gaur them now restore 't, I pray, Though they should borrow 't. To hae it back is just and right, Upon the Free wi' a' your might, And think nae shame. Lay on your lash, and dinna spare, I maun confess; But, be your actions foul or fair, Ye ne'er transgress. Ye godly few, tak nae excuse, Lest they your mercy should abuse; |