O Jesus, we sing to praise thee,
Who said let children come to me;
We gather round the mercy seat,
O let our songs to thee be sweet.
Sweetly, &c.
Jesus, our Master, Lord and King,
Spread over us thy sheltering wing,
Keep us unspotted, let us be
Thy children singing praise to thee.
Sweetly, &c.
ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL.
O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;
Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet?
Will thae daft people never quit
An ne'er ha'e done
Disturbin' me in my black pit
Wi' Burn's fun.
Though mony years ha'e fled away
Sin' thou wert buried in the clay,
Thy rhymes, unto this vera day,
Are mair than laws;
Thy name's set up on ilka bra'
Wi' great applause.
And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel,
I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel,
But that "Address unto the De'il"
Made i' your sport,
Has raised a maist revengefu' squeel
In my black court.
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