The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill With biography, illustrations, and music |
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THE POOR BOWLMAN'S REMONSTRANCE.
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 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
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THE POOR BOWLMAN'S REMONSTRANCE.
Through winter's cold and summer's heat,
I earn my scanty fare;
From morn till night, along the street,
I cry my earthen ware.
Then, O let pity sway your souls!
And mock not that decrepitude
Which draws me from my solitude
To cry my plates and bowls!
I earn my scanty fare;
From morn till night, along the street,
I cry my earthen ware.
Then, O let pity sway your souls!
And mock not that decrepitude
Which draws me from my solitude
To cry my plates and bowls!
From thoughtless youth I often brook
The trick and taunt of scorn,
And though indiff'rence marks my look,
My heart with grief is torn.
Then, O let pity sway your souls!
Nor sneer contempt in passing by;
Nor mock, derisive, while I cry,
“Come, buy my plates and bowls.”
The trick and taunt of scorn,
And though indiff'rence marks my look,
My heart with grief is torn.
Then, O let pity sway your souls!
Nor sneer contempt in passing by;
Nor mock, derisive, while I cry,
“Come, buy my plates and bowls.”
The potter moulds the passive clay
To all the forms you see;
And that same Pow'r that formèd you
Hath likewise fashion'd me.
Then, O let pity sway your souls!—
Though needy, poor as poor can be,
I stoop not to your charity,
But cry my plates and bowls.
To all the forms you see;
And that same Pow'r that formèd you
Hath likewise fashion'd me.
Then, O let pity sway your souls!—
Though needy, poor as poor can be,
I stoop not to your charity,
But cry my plates and bowls.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |