HOLY WILLIE'S LATEST PRAYER

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXVIV, Issue 36, 18 January 1916, Page 6

HOLY WILLIE'S LATEST PRAYER

The following verses are from the Montreal Standard : 0 Ford, wha in the Heavens does dwell, 1 fear that things .are no' gaun well., Hoo this can be I canna tell; Baith 'cultured' courses And 'frightful' methods fail to quell The Allied forces. Lord, I act out to play a hear, And hunt a lion to its lair, And thraw the neck o' Chanticleer; •The Cock was game. An' a' I've got's a Belgian Hare I carina tame. 0 Lord, I hope Ye understand It was at Thy express command My people took their sword in hand, Their foes to chasten; If Thou would'st help the German Band, 0 do Thou hasten. Ye shairly canna realise My army's dwinin' doon in size. An' sansages are on the rise : 'lt's maist distressin'. Some miracle, 0 Lord, devise. An reap my blessing. 0 Lord, my faith is sairly tried. 1 look to Thee to turn the tide, I thocht Thou ever would'st abide A Friend to Willie; But noo wi' foes on ilka side I'm near driven silly'The Day,' 0 Lord, has Thou forgotten Thy blessing I was shair I'd gotten. Yet here wi' grief an' rage I'm sottm. Ahint the trenches , While Joffre'a nibblin' like a rattan At my defences. Lord, I beseech Thee, hear my prayer. Bless me on land, an' sea. an' air, Preserve me frae the Russian Bear; i Clip Thou its claws, • Or set it dancin' at a fair, Wi' muzzled jaws.

I've ca'd doon kirks, O Lord, but those Were filled vvi' French an' ither foes, Wha live on hoggises and brose An' worship Burns, An' wesr extr-ordinary clo'es, That gie folk turns. O Lord, destroy thae Scottish chiels, That dress like lasses, fecht like deils, They're slippery as conger-eels, I canna match them; O lay Thy saut upon their heels. That I may catch them. O Lord, what made my spies a ! think That Britain was at ruin's brink: Wi' Ireland seething like a sink Wi' civil strife, And Scotland's glory doomed in drink, Devoid of life. Sink Thou, O Lord, the British Fleet, For puir auld Tirpie's fairly beat: Stop this infernal rain and sleet 'That fills the trenches. And grant m G something to defeat. E'en weans and wenches. 0 Lord, excuse this hurrid prayer, My armies need me everywhere, And T maun travel here and there, Frae east to west. " . And so hae nae mair time to spare— Excuse the rest.