Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between— Some gleams of sunshine ’mid renewing storms, Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or death’s unlovely, dreary, dark abode? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms: I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath His sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, “Forgive my foul offence,” Fain promise never more to disobey; But, should my Author health again dispense, Again I might desert fair virtue’s way; Again in folly’s part might go astray; Again exalt the brute and sink the man; Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray Who act so counter heavenly mercy’s plan? Who sin so oft have mourn’d, yet to temptation ran? O Thou, great Governor of all below! If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, Or still the tumult of the raging sea: With that controlling pow’r assist ev’n me, Those headlong furious passions to confine, For all unfit I feel my pow’rs to be, To rule their torrent in th’ allowed line; O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine! 1782 Fickle Fortune: A Fragment Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, She pormis’d fair and perform’d but ill; Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav’d me, Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. I’ll act with prudence as far ’s I’m able, But if success I must never find, Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, I’ll meet thee with an undaunted mind. Raging Fortune—Fragment Of Song O raging Fortune’s withering blast Has laid my leaf full low, O! O raging Fortune’s withering blast Has laid my leaf full low, O! My stem was fair, my bud was green, My blossom sweet did blow, O! The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, And made my branches grow, O! But luckless Fortune’s northern storms Laid a’ my blossoms low, O! But luckless Fortune’s northern storms Laid a’ my blossoms low, O! Impromptu—“I’ll Go And Be A Sodger” O why the deuce should I repine, And be an ill foreboder? I’m twenty-three, and five feet nine, I’ll go and be a sodger! I gat some gear wi’ mickle care, I held it weel thegither; But now it’s gane, and something mair— I’ll go and be a sodger! Song—“No Churchman Am I” Tune—“Prepare, my dear Brethren, to the tavern let’s fly.” No churchman am I for to rail and to write, No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, No sly man of business contriving a snare, For a big-belly’d bottle’s the whole of my care.