Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gi'e poor frailty names, Suppose a change o' cases; A dear loved lad, convenience snug, A treacherous inclination-- But, let me whisper i' your lug[221], Ye'er aiblins[222] nae temptation. Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it: An' just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord--its various tone, 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. [Footnote 216: well-going.] [Footnote 217: hopper.] [Footnote 218: idle.] [Footnote 219: unlucky.] [Footnote 220: exchange.] [Footnote 221: ear.] [Footnote 222: perhaps.] XLVII. HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. The hero of this daring exposition of Calvinistic theology was William Fisher, a farmer in the neighbourhood of Mauchline, and an elder in Mr. Auld's session. He had signalized himself in the prosecution of Mr. Hamilton, elsewhere alluded to; and Burns appears to have written these verses in retribution of the rancour he had displayed on that occasion. Fisher was afterwards convicted of appropriating the money collected for the poor. Coming home one night from market in a state of intoxication, he fell into a ditch, where he was found dead next morning. The poem was first published in 1801, along with the "Jolly Beggars". Oh Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, Wha, as it pleases best thysel', Sends ane to heaven, an' ten to hell, A' for thy glory, An' no for ony guid or ill They've done afore thee! I bless an' praise thy matchless might, Whan thousands thou hast left in night, That I am here afore thy sight, For gifts an' grace A burnin' and a shinin' light To a' this place. What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation, I wha deserve sic just damnation, For broken laws, Five thousand years 'fore my creation, Thro' Adam's cause? When frae my mither's womb I fell, Thou might ha'e plunged me deep in hell, To gnash my gums, to weep an' wail, In burnin' lake, Whare damned devils roar an' yell, Chain'd to a stake. Yet I am here, a chosen sample; To show thy grace is great an' ample; I'm here a pillar in thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, an example, To a' thy flock. But yet, oh Lord! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd[223] wi' fleshly lust; An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, Vile self gets in: But Thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd in sin.