“But, Willie, friend, don’t turn me forth, Auld Clootie needs no gauger; And if on earth I had small worth, You’ve let in worse, I’se wager!” “Na, nane has knockit at the yett But found me hard as whunstane; There’s chances yet your bread to get Wi Auld Nick, gaugin' brunstane.” IX. Meanwhile, the Unco' Guid had ta’en Their place to watch the process, Flattening in vain on many a pane Their disembodied noses. Remember, please, ’tis all a dream; One can’t control the fancies Through sleep that stream with wayward gleam, Like midnight’s boreal dances. X. Old Willie’s tone grew sharp’s a knife: “_In primis_, I indite ye, For makin' strife wi' the water o' life, And preferrin' _aqua vitæ_!” Then roared a voice with lusty din, Like a skipper’s when ’tis blowy, “If _that_'s a sin, _I_'d ne’er got in, As sure as my name’s Noah!” XI. Baulked, Willie turned another leaf,-- “There’s many here have heard ye, To the pain and grief o' true belief, Say hard things o' the clergy!” Then rang a clear tone over all,-- “One plea for him allow me: I once heard call from o’er me, 'Saul, Why persecutest thou me?'” XII. To the next charge vexed Willie turned, And, sighing, wiped his glasses: “I’m much concerned to find ye yearned O’er-warmly tow’rd the lasses!” Here David sighed; poor Willie’s face Lost all its self-possession: “I leave this case to God’s own grace; It baffles _my_ discretion!” XIII. Then sudden glory round me broke, And low melodious surges Of wings whose stroke to splendor woke Creation’s farthest verges; A cross stretched, ladder-like, secure From earth to heaven’s own portal, Whereby God’s poor, with footing sure, Climbed up to peace immortal. XIV. I heard a voice serene and low (With my heart I seemed to hear it) Fall soft and slow as snow on snow, Like grace of the heavenly spirit; As sweet as over new-born son The croon of new-made mother, The voice begun, “Sore tempted one!” Then, pausing, sighed, “Our brother! XV. “If not a sparrow fall, unless The Father sees and knows it, Think! recks he less his form express, The soul his own deposit? If only dear to Him the strong, That never trip nor wander, Where were the throng whose morning song Thrills His blue arches yonder? XVI. “Do souls alone clear-eyed, strong-kneed, To Him true service render, And they who need His hand to lead, Find they His heart untender? Through all your various ranks and fates He opens doors to duty, And he that waits there at your gates Was servant of His Beauty.” XVII. “The Earth must richer sap secrete, (Could ye in time but know it!) Must juice concrete with fiercer heat, Ere she can make her poet; Long generations go and come, At last she bears a singer, For ages dumb, of senses numb The compensation-bringer!” XVIII.