PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING.

To Him who gives such plenteous store,
And makes the cup of life run o'er

With many a noble gift.

Thy mighty working, mighty God,
Wakes all my powers; I look abroad
And can no longer rest;

I too must sing when all things sing,
And from my heart the praises ring
The Highest loveth best.

I think, art Thou so good to us,
And scatterest joy and beauty thus
O'er this poor earth of ours;
What nobler glories shall be given
Hereafter in Thy shining heaven,

Set round with golden towers!

What thrilling joy when on our sight
Christ's garden beams in cloudless light,
Where all the air is sweet,

Still laden with the unwearied hymn

From all the thousand seraphim

Who God's high praise repeat!

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104

PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING.

Oh were I there! Oh that I now,

Dear God, before Thy throne could bow,
And bear my heavenly palm!

Then like the angels would I raise

My voice, and sing Thy endless praise
In many a sweet-toned psalm.

Nor can I now, O God, forbear,
Though still this mortal yoke I wear,

To utter oft thy name;

But still my heart is bent to speak

Thy praises; still, though poor and weak,
Would I set forth thy fame.

But help me : let Thy heavenly showers
Revive and bless my fainting powers,

And let me thrive and grow
Beneath the summer of thy grace,

And fruits of faith bud forth apace

While yet I dwell below.

And set me, Lord, in Paradise

When I have bloomed beneath these skies

Till my last leaf is flown;

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD, ETC.

105

Thus let me serve Thee here in time,

And after, in that happier clime,

And Thee, my God, alone!

PAUL GERHARDT. 1759.

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN.

Now spring has clad the grove in green,

And strewed the lea wi' flowers:

The furrowed, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join.
Their sorrows to forego,

Oh why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe!

The trout within yon wimpling burn

Glides swift-a silver dart;

And safe beneath the shady thorn

Defies the angler's art.

My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I;

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106

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD, ETC.

But love wi' unrelenting beam,

Has scorched my fountains dry.

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,

Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,

Nae ruder visit knows,

Was mine; till love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom,

And now beneath the with'ring blast

My youth and joy consume.

The wakened lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,

Winnowing blithe her dewy wings

In morning's rosy eye.

As little recked I sorrow's power,

Until the flowery snare

O' witching love, in luckless hour,

Made me the thrall o' care.

Oh, had my fate been Greenland snows,

Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' men and nature leagued my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

AUGUST.

The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair,'
What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.

AUGUST.

AEGLOGA OCTAVA.

BURNS.

107

ARGUMENT.

In this Acglogue is set forth a delectable controversie, made in imitation of that in Theocritus: whereto also Virgil fashioned his third and seventh Aeglogue. They chose for umpere of their strife, Cuddy, a neat-heards boye; who, having ended their cause, reciteth also himselfe a proper song, whereof Colin he saith was authour.

WILLIE, PERIGOT, CUDDie.

WILLIE. Tell mee, Perigot, what shalbe the game, Wherefore with mine thou dare thy musick matche ? Or bene thy bagpypes renne1 farre out of frame?

Or hath the crampe thy ioynts benomd with ache? PER. Ah! Willie, when the hart is ill assayde,2 How can bagpype or ioynts be well apayde? WIL.

3

What the foule evill hath thee so bestad ? ±