Poem Written to his Jailer

Robert Gordon!I beg you pardonFor so havingKept you waitingAfter some poor verses of mine.You know, my english is not fine.I speak it; but onlyVery imperfectly.

The snowWhich renders the ground all white,From heaven, comes here below:Its pine frozen drops inviteUs allTo 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’dStand, before God, unnotic’d

O Robert, Let us be fondOf Virtue! Virtues aboundIn every sort of good.Let virtue be our soul’s food!