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 7 When thro' the parch’d wilderness Israel were straying, And o’er them as brass blaz’d the cloudless concave, The rod-smitten Horeb, the signal obeying, Pour’d forth from her bosom the clear, cooling wave. When far on his journey the Prophet had sped him, His life from the hand of oppression to save, By ravens the bounty of Providence fed him, But left him to drink of the clear, cooling wave. Chor.—Then loud raise your voices in sweet swelling numbers, &c,

To his cot, when the toil-wearied father has plodded, His child brings a draught from the cool, dripping cave; Tho’ drink may force laughter from hearts care-corroded, Yet happiness beams o’er the clear, cooling wave! O Folly ungrateful, why rifle the vallevs, And torture for drink what for food Mercy gave? While Wisdom, to furnish a health-flowing chalice, Distils thro’ the fountain the clear, cooling wave. Chor.—Then loud raise your voices in sweet swelling numbers, &c.

SANG O’ THE UNEMPLOYED. TUNE—“ Bob and Joan."

I haedna nae employ Thro’ a’ this wintry wather; The meelocks I enjoy Wi’ muckle shame I gather.

I lang had rowth o’ wark. An’ couldna fart the wages, Wi’ hail coat an’ clean sark, I sang like birds in cages.

But aye fan Feersday cam, I coulda pass the Public; My joy— a pipe an ’ drain, Wi’ chiels that I eld a club-like.