FRATERNITY.
Could ye but ken, ye sons o’ men,
How truly ye are brithers,
Ye’d make guid speed to stand agreed,
Tho’ born o’ various mithers.
Ane common breath, ane common death,
Ane hame in Heaven above ye—
Ye are the fruit frae one great root
In the guid God who lo’es ye.
All high and low, all empty show,
All envious differences,
Will fade from sight and vanish quite,
When men come to their senses.
Each living man works out the plan
For which he was intended,
And he does best, who will na’ rest
Until his work is ended.
Your neebors’ blame, or sinful shame,
Should gie your soul na’ pleasure,
For while ye judge, wi’ cruel grudge,
You fill your ain sad measure.
The De’il himsel’ could scarcely tell
Which o’ ye was the better;
He wad be laith to leave ye baith,
While either was his debtor.
Here in life’s school wi’ pain and dool,[20]
You get your education,
While mony a trip and sinful slip
Helps on the soul’s salvation.
The unco skeigh,[21] wi’ heads full high,
Wha feel themselves maist holy,
Oft learn through sin how to begin
True life amang the lowly.
Baith you and I may gang agley,[22]
For ’tis a common failin’;
But hauld away! we need na’ stay
A weepin’ and a wailin’.
The God aboon cares not how soon
We leave our sins behind us;
He does not hate us in that state,
Nor set the De’il to mind us.
And as for Hell, o’ which men tell,
I’m sure o’ the opinion,
There’s na’ such place o’ “saving grace”
In all the Lord’s dominion.
And those who rave, puir souls to save,
Wi’ long-faced, pious fleechin’,[23]
Will find far hence, that common sense
Is better than such preachin’.
That which ye ca’ the power o’ law,
Is but a puir invention;
It counts the deed as evil seed,
But winks at the intention.
Could men but be mair truly free,
In some things less restrickéd,
The world wad find the human kind
Wad na’ be half sae wicked.
The pent-up steed kept short o’ feed
Is wildest in his roamin’;
And dammed-up streams, wi’ angry gleams,
Dash o’er each hindrance foamin’.
Therefore (I pray take what I say
In spirit, not in letter)
Mankind should be like rivers, free—
The less they’re damned the better.