His mither may be high or low,
A Miss or Madam;
The God within him will outgrow
The sin o’ Adam;
His only bed may be the earth,
His hame a shealin’;[14]
It will na’ change his real worth,
Or inward feelin’.
Though born beneath the Church’s ban,
Or man’s displeasure,
He will na’ be the less a man
In mind or measure.
God’s image, stamped upon his brow,
Is his defender,
And makes him—as ye hae it now—
“Guid legal tender.”
But ilka child that’s born o’ hate—
However lawful—
Will be the victim, sune or late,
O’ passions awful;
Will hirple[15] o’er the ways o’ life,
Wi’ friends scarce ony,
And in the dour[16] warld’s angry strife,
Find faes full mony.
The Power aboon, sae kind and guid,
Who ever sees us,
Will gie to men, whene’er they need,
A John or Jesus.
The sin o’ Adam will na’ cause
His love to vary,
Nor need he change creation’s laws[17]
To form a Mary.
Man’s sympathies must largely share
In what is human,
And he will love the truth the mair,
That’s born o’ woman.
The De’il himsel’, at last, through love
Will be converted,
And, reckoned wi’ the saunts above,
Leave hell deserted.
The One who laid Creation’s plan
Knows how to end it,
Nor need he ever call on man
To help him mend it.
Then, syne[18] this Being is your friend,
And man your brither,
Gae on rejoicing to the end,
Wi’ ane anither.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEVIL.
Given under the inspiration of Robert Burns.
Men say the De’il is dead at last,
And that his course is ended,
Which sure must be an unco loss
To those whom he befriended.
No doubt he managed to evade
The sinner’s awful sentence,
By that last trick, so often played,
Of a death-bed repentance.