English

Think gently of the erring one:
O let us not forget.
However darkly stained by sin,
He is our brother yet.
Heir of the same inheritance,
Child of the self-same God,
He hath but fallen in the path
We have in weakness trod.

Speak gently to the erring one:
We yet may lead him back,
With holy words and tones of love,
From misery's thorny track.
Forget not, brother, thou hast sinned,
And sinful yet may'st be;
Deal gently with the erring heart,
As God hath dealt with thee.

Heavenly Helper, Friend divine,
Friend of all men, therefore mine,
Let my heart as thy heart be,
Breathe thy living breath through me!

Only at thy love's pure tide
Human thirst is satisfied;
He who fills his chalice there,
Fills with thirstier souls to share.

If another lose the way,
My feet also go astray:
Sleepless Watcher, lead us back,
Safe into the homeward track!

As a bird unto its nest,
Flies the tired soul to thy breast;
Let not one an alien be,—
Lord, we have no home but thee.

You may laugh at my bulls, (tho its much to my grief,
For no bull surpasses the bulls of the deaf .)
I thought my friend ask'd me the streight road to Leith,
Directly I show'd him the way to Dalkeith.
My master he sent me unto James's court
With letters: but I took them to the West port.
My brother he ask'd me my welfare to day,
I told him I ne'er drank no Whiskybae;
Nor no kind of liquor wou'd I drink a drop,
Not for all the goods that he had in his shop.
I sung Gramachree, and my Wife cry'd ancore ;

Occasioned by a Lady being deeply affected with the Censure of the World . A Dialogue . B .

Alas! alas! so much I've heard,
I scarce have Breath to speak a Word;
The World! the World, what won't it say?
Is hatching Lies from Day to Day;
If for one Mouthful of fresh Air,
We venture from our Homes to steer,
And this at Ev'ning should be done,
Expect to hear by Morning's Sun,
Malice has done her utmost Spite,
To represent in foulest Light,
And damn the Actions of the Night. U .

No more, no more disturb thy Mind,

I.

Is it not true, as one has proudly sung,
" A Poet's love is Immortality? "
Many a time and oft that note has rung
Echoings of high and heavenly harmony.
Sweet, when the weary day is done, to be
Greeted by budding lips and kindling eyes,
Pressed to the one true heart in ecstasy, —
Enchantment only worthy of the skies.
Repose my heart has sought, and all in vain;

Tune, — Old Sir Simon the King.

Come boys let us sign the petition,
To make the poor Africans free,
For ruin has been their condition,
Since Europe began to drink Tea.
Proud Princes are a' crazy turning,
In striving to lead us agee,
By capeseizing night into morning,
When gambling and drinking at Tea.

Chorus .

Miss
Lovely, sweet, attracting Fair,
O what a Form! that matchless Air!
Rapture fires my glowing Breast,
Replete stand all thy Charms confest;
Ev'ry Feature floats in View,
To Extasy of Thought, how new!
Thee, Venus Laughter-loving Dame,
Adding all thy sprightly Train;

Here your very Self's display'd,
Under Form of this sweet Maid;
To fly is vain; the barbed Dart,
Cast from those Eyes, assails my Heart;
Heav'n-born Fair thee I invoke,
In Pity let me 'scape the Stroke;
Never on me direct a Ray,

Upon being inform'd that H IRCUS had sent in Quest of the Author, immediately upon receiving a Letter of the most poignant Accusation, touching his execrable Life, &c.

" Why let the stricken Deer go weep, " I find
My Prose Attack has gall'd him to my Mind;
Not quite so callous as I thought — that's well;
But yet I deem him still an Infidel:
Let him discard his Trull, then sneak away,
E'en I may be his Friend, some future Day.

Give ear, brother fools; you who Lawyers encourage,
 And bring your own family to misery,
When you're forc'd to jail, there your fortunes to forage,
 While you support them up in high dignity,

No wonder these vermin now shine in their coaches
 For their ay crying give, give, like greedy horseleeches,
For the devil a coin they have left in my breeches,
 Tho't was but a cat that began this curs'd plea .

My dog and I went on a hunting excursion,
 And finding no prey, then he worried a cat,

An Extempore Answer to an Invitation from some Ladies to the Author, to spend the Afternoon with 'em, " if he could throw away his Time on two such insipid Mortals, " as they term'd themselves .

Your Greetings have this Moment reach'd my Hand,
By which the Ladies Pleasure I command
Next Wednesday; 'tis well, I will be there;
(Full twenty Years in Love's Account, my Fair!)
But what Injustice to yourselves to say,
(Not think I trust) " if you can throw away,
With two insipid Mortals such as we,