Her voice is hushed, her hands are still,
I, from the summit of the hill,
Look down, and marvel at God’s will.
Her foot was planted at the base
All eager for the upward race,
Her genius shining in her face.
She felt the soul within her leap,
She yearned to scale the steepest steep,
And now—she’s fallen upon sleep!
God knoweth best!—I must descend
The downward slope. Good-bye, sweet friend,
Life’s myriad ways meet in the end.
GRANNIE’S BAIRN
When oor wee Elspeth’s in the hoose
I scarce hae use for hauns or feet—
An’ after a’, why should I fash
When she’s sae nimble an’ sae fleet?
“I wonner whaur I laid my specs!”
The words hae haurdly left ma mooth
Afore I fin’, across my nose,
She has them set astride forsooth.
She threeds ma needle, winds ma woo’,
Picks up the steeks that whiles will drap—
She slips aboot like some wee moose
For fear she’ll wauke me frae ma nap.
Her wee three-leggit stool ye’ll aye
Fin’ drawn up close tae granny’s chair;
She learns her task an’ sews her seam,
An’ sups her cog o’ parritch there.
An’ mony’s the lang crack we twa hae;
But whiles, sic puzzlin’ things she’ll spier,
The verra Meenister himsel’
Waud be dumbfounded could he hear.