Robert Burns


THE wintry wast extends his blast,
  And hail and ram does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
  The blinding sleet and snaw:
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
  And roars frae bank to brae:
And bird and beast in covert rest,
  And pass the heartless day.

‘The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,’
  The joyiess winter-day,
Let others fear, to me more dear
  Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
  My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
  Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Pow’r Supreme, whose mighty scheme
  These woes of mine fulfil,
Here, firm, I rest,-they must be best,
  Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want (Oh! do thou grant
  This one request of mine!)
Since to enjoy thou dost deny,
  Assist me to resign.

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