Robert Gordon!
I beg you pardon
For so having
Kept you waiting
After some poor verses of mine.
You know, my english is not fine.
I speak it; but only
Very imperfectly.
The snow
Which renders the ground all white,
From heaven, comes here below:
Its pine frozen drops invite
Us all
To white-keep your thoughts and our acts,
So that when our bodies do fall,
Our merits, before God, be facts.
How many who, with good desires,
Have died and lost their souls to fires?
Good desires kept unpractic’d
Stand, before God, unnotic’d
O Robert, Let us be fond
Of Virtue! Virtues abound
In every sort of good.
Let virtue be our soul’s food!