He’s a braw place in Heev’n, ye ken,
An’ lea’s us puir, forjaskit men
Clamjamfried in the but and ben
He ca’s the earth—
A wee bit inconvenient den
No muckle worth;
An’ whiles, at orra times, keeks out,
Sees what puir mankind are about;
An’ if He can, I’ve little doubt,
Upsets their plans;
He hates a’ mankind, brainch and root,
An’ a’ that’s man’s.
An’ whiles, whan they tak heart again,
An’ life i’ the sun looks braw an’ plain,
Doun comes a jaw o’ droukin’ rain
Upon their honours—
God sends a spate outower the plain,
Or mebbe thun’ers.
Lord safe us, life’s an unco thing!
Simmer an’ Winter, Yule an’ Spring,
The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring
A feck o’ trouble.
I wadnae try’t to be a king—
No, nor for double.
But since we’re in it, willy-nilly,
We maun be watchfü’, wise an’ skilly,
An’ no mind ony ither billy,
Lassie nor God.
But drink—that’s my best counsel till ’e:
Sae tak the nod.
VIII—THE COUNTERBLAST—1886
My bonny man, the warld, it’s true,
Was made for neither me nor you;
It’s just a place to warstle through,
As job confessed o’t;
And aye the best that we’ll can do
Is mak the best o’t.
There’s rowth o’ wrang, I’m free to say:
The simmer brunt, the winter blae,
The face of earth a’ fyled wi’ clay
An’ dour wi’ chuckies,
An’ life a rough an’ land’art play
For country buckies.
An’ food’s anither name for clart;
An’ beasts an’ brambles bite an’ scart;
An’ what would WE be like, my heart!
If bared o’ claethin’?
—Aweel, I cannae mend your cart:
It’s that or naethin’.
A feck o’ folk frae first to last
Have through this queer experience passed;
Twa-three, I ken, just damn an’ blast
The hale transaction;
But twa-three ithers, east an’ wast,
Fand satisfaction,