By the inestimable Robert Burns
O Thou dread Pow’r, who reign’st above!
I know Thou wilt me hear;
When for this scene of peace and love,
I make this pray’r sincere.
The hoary Sire – the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleas’d to spare;
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely Offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O bless her with a Mother’s joys,
But spare a Mother’s tears!
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood’s dawning blush,
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth,
Up to a Parent’s wish.
The beauteous, seraph Sister-band
With earnest tears I pray,
Thou know’st the snares on ev’ry hand,
Guide Thou their steps alway.
When, soon or late, they reach that coast,
O’er life’s rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wand’rer lost,
A family in Heaven!