Holy Willie’s Prayer by Robert Burns

Lyrics

O Thou, that in the heavens does dwell As it pleases best Thysel' Sends ane to Heaven an' ten to Hell For Thy glory And no for onie guid or ill They've done afore Thee! I bless and praise Thy matchless might When thousands Thou hast left in night That I am here afore Thy sight For gifts an' grace A burning and a shining light To a' this place What was I, or my generation That I should get sic exaltation? I wha deserv'd most just damnation For broken laws Six thousand years 'ere my creation Thro' Adam's cause When from my mither's womb I fell Thou might hae plung'd me deep in hell To gnash my gums, and weep and wail In burnin lakes Where damned devils roar and yell Chain'd to their stakes Yet I am here a chosen sample To show thy grace is great and ample; I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple Strong as a rock A guide, a buckler, and example To a' Thy flock O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear An' singing here, an' dancin there Wi' great and sma'; For I am keepit by Thy fear Free frae them a' But yet, O Lord! confess I must At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust: An' sometimes, too, in worldly trust Vile self gets in; But Thou remembers we are dust Defil'd wi' sin O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg Thy pardon I sincerely beg; O may't ne'er be a livin' plague To my dishonour An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg Again upon her Besides, I farther maun avow Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow - But Lord, that Friday I was fou When I cam near her; Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true Wad never steer her Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn That he's sae gifted: If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne Until Thou lift it Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place For here Thou has a chosen race! But God confound there stubborn face An' blast their name Wha brings Thy elders to disgrace An' open shame Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts; He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes Yet has sae mony takin arts Wi' great an' sma' Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts He steals awa' And when we chasten'd him therefore Thou kens how he bred sic a splore And set the world in a roar O' laughing at us; Curse Thou his basket and his store Kail an' potatoes Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr; Thy strong right hand, Lord mak it bare Upo' their heads; Lord visit them, an' dinna spare For their misdeeds O Lord my God! that glib-tongu'd Aitken My vera heart an' flesh are quakin To think how we stood sweatin, shakin An' pish'd wi' dread While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin Held up his head Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him Lord, visit them wha did employ him And pass not in Thy mercy by them Nor hear their pray'r But for Thy people's sake destroy them An' dinna spare But, Lord, remember me an' mine Wi' mercies temporal and divine That I for grace an' gear may shine Excell'd by nane And a' the glory shall be Thine Amen, Amen!