10 Best Famous Advocate Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Advocate poems. This is a select list of the best famous Advocate poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Advocate poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of advocate poems.

• All Famous Advocate Poems

Nigh and day arrive and day after day goes by 
And what is old remains old and what is young remains young and grows old.
The lumber pile does not grow younger nor the two-by-fours lose their darkness 
but the old tree goes on the barn stands without help so many years;
the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.

The horse steps up swings on one leg turns its body 
the chicken flapping claws onto the roost its wings whelping and walloping 
but what is primitive is not to be shot out into the night and the dark.
And slowly the kind man comes closer loses his rage sits down at table.

So I am proud only of those days that pass in undivided tenderness 
when you sit drawing or making books stapled with messages to the world 
or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.
Or we sit at a table with small tea carefully poured.
So we pass our time together calm and delighted.

 Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me
And tell, why I have chosen thee! 

Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say,
Why I did cast the world away. 

Why I have persevered to shun
The common paths that others run,
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless, alike, of wealth and power -
Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. 

These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But, careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised. 

So, with a ready heart I swore
To seek their altar-stone no more;
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever - present, phantom thing;
My slave, my comrade, and my king, 

A slave, because I rule thee still;
Incline thee to my changeful will,
And make thy influence good or ill:
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight, - 

My darling pain that wounds and sears
And wrings a blessing out from tears
By deadening me to earthly cares;
And yet, a king, though Prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel. 

And am I wrong to worship, where
Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair,
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of visions, plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee !

 YE Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires,
Wha represent our brughs an’ shires,
An’ doucely manage our affairs
 In parliament,
To you a simple poet’s pray’rs
 Are humbly sent.


Alas! my roupit Muse is hearse!
Your Honours’ hearts wi’ grief ’twad pierce,
To see her sittin on her ****
 Low i’ the dust,
And scriechinh out prosaic verse,
 An like to brust!


Tell them wha hae the chief direction,
Scotland an’ me’s in great affliction,
E’er sin’ they laid that curst restriction
 On aqua-vit&æ;
An’ rouse them up to strong conviction,
 An’ move their pity.


Stand forth an’ tell yon Premier youth
The honest, open, naked truth:
Tell him o’ mine an’ Scotland’s drouth,
 His servants humble:
The muckle deevil blaw you south
 If ye dissemble!


Does ony great man glunch an’ gloom?
Speak out, an’ never fash your thumb!
Let posts an’ pensions sink or soom
 Wi’ them wha grant them;
If honestly they canna come,
 Far better want them.


In gath’rin votes you were na slack;
Now stand as tightly by your tack:
Ne’er claw your lug, an’ fidge your back,
 An’ hum an’ haw;
But raise your arm, an’ tell your crack
 Before them a’.


Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle;
Her mutchkin stowp as toom’s a whissle;
An’ d—mn’d excisemen in a bussle,
 Seizin a stell,
Triumphant crushin’t like a mussel,
 Or limpet shell!


Then, on the tither hand present her—
A blackguard smuggler right behint her,
An’ cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner
 Colleaguing join,
Picking her pouch as bare as winter
 Of a’ kind coin.


Is there, that bears the name o’ Scot,
But feels his heart’s bluid rising hot,
To see his poor auld mither’s pot
 Thus dung in staves,
An’ plunder’d o’ her hindmost groat
 By gallows knaves?


Alas! I’m but a nameless wight,
Trode i’ the mire out o’ sight?
But could I like Montgomeries fight,
 Or gab like Boswell, 2
There’s some sark-necks I wad draw tight,
 An’ tie some hose well.


God bless your Honours! can ye see’t—
The kind, auld cantie carlin greet,
An’ no get warmly to your feet,
 An’ gar them hear it,
An’ tell them wi’a patriot-heat
 Ye winna bear it?


Some o’ you nicely ken the laws,
To round the period an’ pause,
An’ with rhetoric clause on clause
 To mak harangues;
Then echo thro’ Saint Stephen’s wa’s
 Auld Scotland’s wrangs.


Dempster, 3 a true blue Scot I’se warran’;
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran; 4
An’ that glib-gabbit Highland baron,
 The Laird o’ Graham; 5
An’ ane, a chap that’s damn’d aulfarran’,
 Dundas his name: 6


Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie; 7
True Campbells, Frederick and Ilay; 8
An’ Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie; 9
 An’ mony ithers,
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully
 Might own for brithers.


See sodger Hugh, 10 my watchman stented,
If poets e’er are represented;
I ken if that your sword were wanted,
 Ye’d lend a hand;
But when there’s ought to say anent it,
 Ye’re at a stand.


Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle,
To get auld Scotland back her kettle;
Or faith! I’ll wad my new pleugh-pettle,
 Ye’ll see’t or lang,
She’ll teach you, wi’ a reekin whittle,
 Anither sang.


This while she’s been in crankous mood,
Her lost Militia fir’d her bluid;
(Deil na they never mair do guid,
 Play’d her that pliskie!)
An’ now she’s like to rin red-wud
 About her whisky.


An’ Lord! if ance they pit her till’t,
Her tartan petticoat she’ll kilt,
An’durk an’ pistol at her belt,
 She’ll tak the streets,
An’ rin her whittle to the hilt,
 I’ the first she meets!


For God sake, sirs! then speak her fair,
An’ straik her cannie wi’ the hair,
An’ to the muckle house repair,
 Wi’ instant speed,
An’ strive, wi’ a’ your wit an’ lear,
 To get remead.


Yon ill-tongu’d tinkler, Charlie Fox,
May taunt you wi’ his jeers and mocks;
But gie him’t het, my hearty cocks!
 E’en cowe the cadie!
An’ send him to his dicing box
 An’ sportin’ lady.


Tell you guid bluid o’ auld Boconnock’s, 11
I’ll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks,
An’ drink his health in auld Nance Tinnock’s 12
 Nine times a-week,
If he some scheme, like tea an’ winnocks,
 Was kindly seek.


Could he some commutation broach,
I’ll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch,
He needna fear their foul reproach
 Nor erudition,
Yon mixtie-maxtie, ***** hotch-potch,
 The Coalition.


Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue;
She’s just a devil wi’ a rung;
An’ if she promise auld or young
 To tak their part,
Tho’ by the neck she should be strung,
 She’ll no desert.


And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty,
May still you mither’s heart support ye;
Then, tho’a minister grow dorty,
 An’ kick your place,
Ye’ll snap your gingers, poor an’ hearty,
 Before his face.


God bless your Honours, a’ your days,
Wi’ sowps o’ kail and brats o’ claise,
In spite o’ a’ the thievish kaes,
 That haunt St. Jamie’s!
Your humble poet sings an’ prays,
 While Rab his name is.


POSTSCRIPTLET half-starv’d slaves in warmer skies
See future wines, rich-clust’ring, rise;
Their lot auld Scotland ne’re envies,
 But, blythe and frisky,
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys
 Tak aff their whisky.


What tho’ their Phoebus kinder warms,
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms,
When wretches range, in famish’d swarms,
 The scented groves;
Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms
 In hungry droves!


Their gun’s a burden on their shouther;
They downa bide the stink o’ powther;
Their bauldest thought’s a hank’ring swither
 To stan’ or rin,
Till skelp—a shot—they’re aff, a’throw’ther,
 To save their skin.


But bring a Scotchman frae his hill,
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,
Say, such is royal George’s will,
 An’ there’s the foe!
He has nae thought but how to kill
 Twa at a blow.


Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him;
Death comes, wi’ fearless eye he sees him;
Wi’bluidy hand a welcome gies him;
 An’ when he fa’s,
His latest draught o’ breathin lea’es him
 In faint huzzas.


Sages their solemn een may steek,
An’ raise a philosophic reek,
An’ physically causes seek,
 In clime an’ season;
But tell me whisky’s name in Greek
 I’ll tell the reason.


Scotland, my auld, respected mither!
Tho’ whiles ye moistify your leather,
Till, whare ye sit on craps o’ heather,
 Ye tine your dam;
Freedom an’ whisky gang thegither!
 Take aff your dram!


 Note 1. This was written before the Act anent the Scotch distilleries, of session 1786, for which Scotland and the author return their most grateful thanks.—R. B. [back]
Note 2. James Boswell of Auchinleck, the biographer of Johnson. [back]
Note 3. George Dempster of Dunnichen. [back]
Note 4. Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran, Bart. [back]
Note 5. The Marquis of Graham, eldest son of the Duke of Montrose. [back]
Note 6. Right Hon. Henry Dundas, M. P. [back]
Note 7. Probably Thomas, afterward Lord Erskine. [back]
Note 8. Lord Frederick Campbell, second brother of the Duke of Argyll, and Ilay Campbell, Lord Advocate for Scotland, afterward President of the Court of Session. [back]
Note 9. Sir Wm. Augustus Cunningham, Baronet, of Livingstone. [back]
Note 10. Col. Hugh Montgomery, afterward Earl of Eglinton. [back]
Note 11. Pitt, whose grandfather was of Boconnock in Cornwall. [back]
Note 12. A worthy old hostess of the author’s in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of gude auld Scotch Drink.—R. B. [back]

 Farewell Example, Living Rule farewell;
Whose practise shew'd goodness was possible,
Who reach'd the full outstretch'd perfection
Of Man, of Lawyer, and of Christian.


Suppose a Man more streight than Reason is,
Whose grounded Habit could not tread amisse
Though Reason slepd; a Man who still esteem'd
His wife his Bone; who still his children deem'd
His Limbes and future Selfe; Servants trayn'd friends;
Lov'd his Familiars for Themselves not ends:
Soe wise and Provident that dayes orepast
He ne're wish'd backe again; by whose forecast
Time's Locke, Time's Baldness, Future Time were one,
Since nought could mende nor marre one Action,
That man was He.


Suppose an Advocate
In whose all-conquering tong true right was Fate;
That could not pleade among the grounded throng
Wrong Causes right nor rightfull causes wrong,
But made the burnish'd Truth to shine more bright
Than could the witnesses or Act in sight.
Who did soe breifely, soe perspicuously
Untie the knots of darke perplexity
That words appear'd like thoughts, and might derive
To dull Eares Knowledge most Intuitive.


A Judge soe weigh'd that Freinde and one of Us
Were heard like Titius and Sempronius.
All Eare, no Eie, noe Hande; oft being par'd
The Eies Affections and the Hands Reward.
Whose Barre and Conscience were but two in Name,
Sentence and Closet-Censure still the Same:
That Advocate, that judge was He.


Suppose
A sound and setled Christian, not like those
That stande by fitts, but of that Sanctity
As by Repentence might scarce better'd be:
Whose Life was like his latest Houre, whose way
Outwent the Journey's Ende where others stay:
Who slighted not the Gospel for his Lawe,
But lov'd the Church more than the Bench, and sawe
That all his Righteousnes had yet neede fee
One Advocate beyond himselfe. 'Twas He.


To this Good Man, Judge, Christian, now is given
Faire Memory, noe Judgment, and blest Heaven.

 O, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
O, thy sweet tongue must plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!

Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say
Why I did cast the world away;

Why I have presevered to shun
The common paths that others run,
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless alike of wealth and power,
Of Glory's wreath and Pleasure's flower.

These once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised.

So, with a ready heart I swore
To seek their altar-stone no more;
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever-present, phantom thing— 
My slave, my comrade, and my king.

A slave, because I rule thee still,
Incline thee to my changeful will,
And make thy influence good or ill;
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight,— 

My darling pain that wounds and sears,
And wrings a blessing out of tears
Be deadening me to earthly cares;
And yet, a king, though Prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel.

And I am wrong to worship where
Faith cannot doubt, nor Hope despair,
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of Visions, plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!

 Complaint of desertion and temptations.

Dear Lord! behold our sore distress;
Our sins attempt to reign;
Stretch out thine arm of conquering grace,
And let thy foes be slain.

[The lion with his dreadful roar
Affrights thy feeble sheep:
Reveal the glory of thy power,
And chain him to the deep.

Must we indulge a long despair?
Shall our petitions die?
Our mourning's never reach thine ear,
Nor tears affect thine eye?]

If thou despise a mortal groan,
Yet hear a Savior's blood;
An Advocate so near the throne
Pleads and prevails with God.

He brought the Spirit's powerful sword
To slay our deadly foes;
Our sins shall die beneath thy word,
And hell in vain oppose.

How boundless is our Father's grace,
In height, and depth, and length!
He makes his Son our righteousness,
His Spirit is our strength.

 Immortal! William Shakespeare, there's none can you excel,
You have drawn out your characters remarkably well,
Which is delightful for to see enacted upon the stage
For instance, the love-sick Romeo, or Othello, in a rage;
His writings are a treasure, which the world cannot repay,
He was the greatest poet of the past or of the present day
Also the greatest dramatist, and is worthy of the name,
I'm afraid the world shall never look upon his like again.
His tragedy of Hamlet is moral and sublime,
And for purity of langucge, nothing can be more fine
For instance, to hear the fair Ophelia making her moan,
At her father's grave, sad and alone....
In his beautiful play, "As You Like If," one passage is very fine,
Just for instance in fhe forest of Arden, the language is sublime,
Where Orlando speaks of his Rosilind, most lovely and divine,
And no other poet I am sure has written anything more fine;
His language is spoken in the Church and by the Advocate at the bar,
Here and there and everywhere throughout the world afar;
His writings abound with gospel truths, moral and sublime,
And I'm sure in my opinion they are surpassing fine;
In his beautiful tragedy of Othello, one passage is very fine,
Just for instance where Cassio looses his lieutenancy
... By drinking too much wine;
And in grief he exclaims, "Oh! that men should put an
Enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains."
In his great tragedy of Richard the III, one passage is very fine
Where the Duchess of York invokes the aid of the Divine
For to protect her innocent babes from the murderer's uplifted hand,
And smite him powerless, and save her babes, I'm sure 'tie really grand.
Immortal! Bard of Avon, your writings are divine,
And will live in the memories of you admirers until the end of time;
Your plays are read in family ciFcles with wonder and delight,
While seated around the fireside on a cold winter's night.

 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

 God of my life, to Thee I call,
Afflicted at Thy feet I fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail!

Friend of the friendless and the faint,
Where should I lodge my deep complaint,
Where but with Thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor!

Did ever mourner plead with Thee,
And Thou refuse the mourner's plea?
Does not the word still fix'd remain,
That none shall seek Thy face in vain?

That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst Thou not hear and answer prayer:
But a prayer-hearing, answering God
Supports me under every load.

Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
I have an Advocate with Thee;
They whom the world caresses most
Have no such privilege to boast.

Poor though I am, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God, forgets me not:
And he is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

 The offices of Christ. From several scriptures.

Join all the names of love and power
That ever men or angels bore,
All are too mean to speak his worth,
Or set lmmannel's glory forth.

But O what condescending ways
He takes to teach his heav'nly grace
My eyes with joy and wonder see
What forms of love he bears for me.

[The Angel of the cov'nant stands
With his commission in his hands,
Sent from his Father's milder throne,
To make the great salvation known.]

[Great Prophet! let me bless thy name;
By thee the joyful tidings came
Of wrath appeased, of sins forgiv'n,
Of hell subdued, and peace with heav'n.]

[My bright Example and my Guide,
I would be walking near thy side;
O let me never run astray,
Nor follow the forbidden way!]

[I love my Shepherd, he shall keep
My wand'ring soul among his sheep;
He feeds his flock, he calls their names,
And in his bosom bears the lambs.]

[My Surety undertakes my cause,
Answering his Father's broken laws:
Behold my soul at freedom set,
My Surety paid the dreadful debt.]

[Jesus, my great High Priest, has died;
I seek no sacrifice beside;
His blood did once for all atone,
And now it pleads before the throne.]

[My Advocate appears on high,
The Father lays his thunder by;
Not all that earth or hell can say
Shall turn my Father's heart away.]

[My Lord, my Conqueror, and my King!
Thy sceptre and thy sword I sing;
Thine is the vict'ry, and I sit
A joyful subject at thy feet.]

[Aspire, my soul, to glorious deeds,
The Captain of salvation leads;
March on, nor fear to win the day,
Though death and hell obstruct the way.]

[Should death, and hell, and powers unknown,
Put all their forms of mischief on,
I shall be safe; for Christ displays
Salvation in more sovereign ways.]