WILLIAM HAMILTON. [1704-1754.] THE BRAES OF YARROW. BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. "Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. "Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, Did I not warn thee not to lo'e, And warn from fight, but to my sorrow; Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yar-Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, row?" Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple frae the rock as mellow. Fair was thy love, fair fairindeed thy love, In flowery bands thou him didst fetter; Though he was fair and weil beloved again, Than me he never lo'ed thee better. Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! And think nae mair on the Braes of "How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, How can I busk a winsome marrow, How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, That slew my love on the Braes of Yarrow? ISAAC WATTS. "O Yarrow fields! may never never rain Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my love, My love, as he had not been a lover. "The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest, 't was my ain sewing; Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned He was in these to meet his ruin. 57 Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, "Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved, O, could my warmth to life restore thee! Ye'd lie all night between my breasts, No youth lay ever there before thee. "Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, "The boy took out his milk-white milk- And lie all night between my breasts, white steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. No youth shall ever lie there after." Return, return, O mournful mournful Return and dry thy useless sorrow: ISAAC WATTS. [1674-1748.] THE HEAVENLY LAND. THERE is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; But timorous mortals start and shrink O, could we make our doubts remove, Could we but climb where Moses stood, Should fright us from the shore. PHILIP DODDRIDGE. [1702-1751.] YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN, YE golden lamps of heaven, farewell, And thou, refulgent orb of day, In brighter flames arrayed; My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, No more demands thy aid. Ye stars are but the shining dust Of my divine abode; The pavement of those heavenly courts Where I shall see my God. There all the millions of his saints Shall in one song unite; And each the bliss of all shall view, With infinite delight. CHARLES WESLEY. [1708-1788.] JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL. JESUS, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high: Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life be past; Safe into the haven guide, O, receive my soul at last! Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me: All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing. Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in thee I find: Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind: Just and holy is thy name, I am all unrighteousness; False and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace. Plenteous grace with thee is found, AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY. [1740-1778.] LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE EXCELLING. LOVE divine, all love excelling, Joy of heaven to earth come down; Fix in us thy humble dwelling, All thy faithful mercies crown; Jesus, thou art all compassion! Pure, unbounded love thou art; Visit us with thy salvation, Enter every trembling heart. Breathe, O, breathe thy loving Spirit Let us all in thee inherit, Let us find the promised rest; Come, almighty to deliver, Let us all thy life receive; Suddenly return, and never, Never more thy temples leave: Thee we would be always blessing, Serve thee as thy hosts above; Pray and praise thee without ceasing, Glory in thy precious love. Finish then thy new creation, Pure, unspotted may we be; Let us see thy great salvation Perfectly restored by thee: Changed from glory into glory, Till in heaven we take our place! Till we cast our crowns before thee, Lost in wonder, love, and praise. dew; Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy streak; But herbs for use, and physic, not a few, Of gray renown, within those borders grew: The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue; The lowly gill, that never dares to climb; And more 1 fain would sing, disdaining here to rhyme. Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung, That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around, And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue, And plantain ribbed, that heals the reaper's wound, And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posy found, And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidst the labors of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume. The swallow twittering from the strawbuilt shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; |