Glen Collection of printed music > Printed music > Scotish minstrel > Volumes 4-6

15
A* dav-lang «t toiled, but we never repined,
Our Hear mither lo'ed us, our faihcr aye was kin<|.,
An' our hearts, then a' pure, were as licht as Hie down
O' the thistle, whan it frolics wi 1 the wayward wind:
Whate'er Heaven sent we were gladsome to see, -
An' we ne'er thoeht our day's daurk a drudgerie.
An* when gloamin' cam on, nicht's dark harbinger,
().' then cam the hours o' one innocent mirth.
When we gather'd wi' joy 'neath our Cot's lowly roof
An' wi' faces a' smilin' encircled the hearth
An' beguild the e'en wi' tales o* the deeds that wont to In,
Or wi' sangs o' our kintra's auld minstrelsie.
An' O. it was sweet, when the nicht was gane.
To raise high the holy Psalmodie.
An' to read, in the heuk, o' the luve o* our God,
An' to kneel to him reverentlic;
An' to bless his name, wha has sworn to he
The puir man's God continnallie.
But, wae's my sad heart! thae bricht days are a' gane.
An' a l.tno nicht o' sorrow an' sadness is nigh;
For the finger o' death touch'd the face o' my mither.
An' her well -spring o' life drihhlet dry - .
An' she slippet awa, like the mists that ye see
Stealin' upward to heaven sae honnilie.
An' ere spring had spread its green owre her grave,
An unco woman sat in her auld arm chair;
His new wife, father ca'd her an' he said she wad hat
A mither's lave for us an' a kind mither's cart':
O how could she e'er be a mither to me,
That spak' o' the dead sae scornfullie.
Fu' sune on our stools her ain bairns were a' planted
Round the ingle, that erst burnt sae chcerilie",
An' frae hame we were driven and the door barr'd at
To drift through a wild warld, wearilie;
An' O sad are the days that the wretched maun drie.
If ye ever rejoiced in the sW-eets o' a hame;
If ye still hae a mither to luve an' to bless;
O pity, kind stranger, a puir beggar wean,
That has nae hame to seek and is mitherles
O pity, kind stranger, and frae heaven high.
The God o' the puir will bless thy charitie!