To melt into the sea—
But never water yet came down
Could wash that blude from me!
And O! to dream of that dear heaven
That I had hoped to win—
And the heavy gates o' the burning gowd
That will not let me in!
I hear the psalm that's sung in heaven,
When the morning breaks sae fair,
And my soul is sick wi' the melodie
Of the angels quiring there.
I feel the breath of God's ain flowers
From out that happy land,
But the fairest flower o' Paradise
Would wither in my hand.
And aye before me gapes a pit
Far deeper than the sea,
And waefn' sounds rise up below,
And deid men call on me.
O that I never had been born,
And ne'er the light had seen!
Dear God—to look on yonder gates
And this dark gulf between!
O that a wee wee bird wad come
Though 'twere but ance a-year!
And bring but sae much mool and earth
As its sma' feet could bear,
And drap it in the ugsome hole
That lies 'twixt heaven and me,
I yet might hope, ere the warld were dune,
My soul might saved be!
W. E. A.