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THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
That, more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away ;
To enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound; Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay ;
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe ;
To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quickened by thy breath ;
Through this day's life or death.
All else beneath the sun
And let thy will be done.
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies !
All nature's incense rise !
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine : “O, where shall I get a skeely skipper
To sail this ship of mine?” 0, up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee,
That sails upon the sea.”
And sealed it with his hand;
Was walking on the strand.
" To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway,
'T is thou maun bring her hame."
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
The first line that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud, laughed he;
The tear blinded his e'e.
“O, wha is this has done this deed,
This ill deed done to me;
To sail upon the sea ?
“ Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'T is we must fetch her hame.
“ Make ready, make ready, my merry men all !
Our gude ship sails the morn.” “Now, ever alake, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm.
“ Late, late yestreen, I saw the new moon
Wi’ the auld moon in her arm; And I fear, I fear, my dear master,
That we will come to harm.”
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
The anchors brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sik a deadly storm ;
Till all her sides were torn.
“O, where will I get a gude sailor
To take my helm in hand,
To see if I can spy land ? ”
“ ), here am I, a sailor gude,
To take the helm in hand,
But I fear you 'll ne'er spy land."
He hadna gone a step, a step,
A step but barely ane,
And the salt sea it came in.
" Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith,
Another o’ the twine,
And let nae the sea come in.”
They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Another o’ the twine, And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,
And still the sea came in.
0, laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon! But lang or a' the play was played,
They wat their hats aboon.
And mony was the feather-bed
That flattered on the faem;
That never mair came hame.
The ladies wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair,
For them they 'll see nae mair.
0, lang, lang, may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spence
Come sailing to the land.
And lang, lang, may the maidens sit,
Wi' their gold kaims in their hair, A’ waiting for their ain dear loves !
For they 'll see them nae mair.
O, forty miles off Aberdeen,
'T is fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
LUCY. - Wordsworth.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
And very few to love,
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Is shining in the sky.