[From To the Unco Guid.] GOD, THE ONLY JUST JUDGE. THEN gently scan your brother man, The moving Why they do it; Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, [tone, He knows each chord-its various Each spring-its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. HIGHLAND MARY. YE banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took my last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me, as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, That wraps my Highland Mary. Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, That dwelt on me sae kindly! And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Ma y. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. WHEN chill November's surly blast I spied a man, whose aged step Young stranger, whither wanderest thou? Began the reverend sage; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage? Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man. The sun that overhangs yon moors, That man was made to mourn. O man! while in thy early years, |