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Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Wi' mickle faucht an' din ;
Your faither's comin' in."
I try to gie a froon,
Wee Jamie wi the curly head —
He aye sleeps next the wa'
The rascal starts them a'.
They stop awee the soun',
But ere five minutes gang wee Rab
Cries oot frae 'neath the claes, " Mither, mak’ Tam gie ower at ance,
He's kittlin wi' his taes." The mischief's in that Tam for tricks,
He'd bother half the toon, But aye I hap them up, an' cry, “O bairnies, cuddle doon.”
At length they hear their father's fit,
An' as he steeks the door
While Tam pretends to snore. “ Hae a' the weans been gude ?” he asks
As he pits off his shoon. “ The bairnies, John, are in their beds,
An' lang since cuddled doon."
An' just afore we bed oorsel'
We look at oor wee lambs; Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck,
An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's. I lift wee Jamie up the bed,
An' as I straik each croon I whisper, till my heart fills up, “O bairnies, cuddle doon."
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht,
Wi' mirth that's dear to me ;
Will quaten doon their glee.
May He who sits aboon
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON.
TWhat My Lover Said.
In the orchard path he met me;
Oh I tried, but he would not let me.
With my face bent down above it,
Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it !)
In the high, wet grass went the path to hide,
And the low wet leaves hung over ;
In the arms of my steadfast lover.
While he closed the path before me,
Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!)
Had he moved aside but a little way,
I could surely then have passed him ;
Could I only aside have cast him.
And the searching night wind found us,
Oh, the whispering wind around us !)
I am sure he knew, when he held me fast,
That I must be all unwilling;
And the sky with its stars was filling.
And he made me hear his story,
Oh, the moon and the stars in glory !)
I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell,
And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover, Will carry my secret so safely and well
That no being shall ever discover One word of the many that rapidly fell
From the soul-speaking lips of my lover ;
And the moon and the stars that looked over
In the path through the dew-laden clover,
What Does it Matter ?
Or if my parents were rich or poor ;
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure.
And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, I tell you, brother, plain as I can,
It matters much.
It matters little how long I stay
In a world of sorrow, sin, and care ; Whether in youth I am called away,
Or live till my bones and pate are bare. But whether I do the best I can
To soften the weight of Adversity's touch On the faded cheek of my fellow-man,
It matters much.
It matters little where be my grave,
Or on the land or in the sea,
It matters little or nought to me.