Ochil Idylls and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Auld brither, tho' your thrawart soul
Needna cast laith at offer'd mercies,
The Peth's the richer for your towl,
An' nane the puirer for your verses.
Ye still should study Holy Writ,
But in a godlier spirit raither—
Wi' mair o' wisdom, less o' wit,
Ye sune wad mak' a better faither.

But you, young sir, wha, fra the hicht
O' college ways an' college learnin',
Look doun wi' telescopic sicht,
Oor age an' ignorance discernin'—
Wha wad your ain forbears disdain,
That sleep wi' a' their thochts aboot them;
Their thochts were wiser than your ain,
An whaur wad ye hae been withoot them?

Na, na, my lad! ye're far ower bauld;
Your scheme's at fau't in ilka featur':
I hae been young, an' noo am auld,
An' never quarrell'd yet wi' Natur'.

Tho' whyles a simmer cauld an' green
Has left a hunger'd hairst ahint it,
Tho' whyles a thowless year I've seen,
My hauld on hope I've never tint it.

It's no' for mortal to command
The miracles o' ony season;
Their workin' needs a higher hand,
Their plannin' needs a wiser reason.
An' hae we earn'd the gude we get
In daily gifts o' ordinar' weather?
Hae years been a' sae contrar' yet
That we maun grum'le a' thegither?

We've mair to cultivate than corn;
We hae oorsel's to raise an' better.
We tarry here a glorious morn
Shall free us fra the bonds o' maitter.
In faith there's comfort ane can feel,
Tho' i' the rain his stooks lie rottin':
The body's wants are mindit weel,
The speerit's are owre aft forgotten.