Address to an Infant

Wee, bonnie bud, how didst thou dare
To shoot amid this scene o' care;
Upon the shore o' time to stand
A' feeble frae thy Maker's hand;
Where thou maun tak' the dews that fa',
The frosts that chill, the blasts that blaw;
While mony a tint o' sun an' shade
Will on thy tender leaves be laid,
As they are openin' saft an' new,
A' spotless, to receive their hue?

Thou art a lovely, shinin' gem,
Alane upon thy parent stem;
Where Heaven permit thee lang to bide,
Its joy, its ornament an' pride!
An' may this warld o' vice and pain,
Withhaud frae thee its blight an' stain,
An' let thee catch unsullied dyes,
An' draw thine odors frae the skies!

Avert thee frae the noisome weed,
An' let thy heart nae canker feed;
But keep thy health an' strength secure—
Thy head erect—thy bosom pure;
That he, wha gied the blossom birth,
May hae the fruit mature frae earth!