X THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB D EAR Thamson class, whaure'er I gang spang: It aye comes ower me wi' a "Lordsake! they Thamson lads-(deil hang Or else Lord mend them)!— An' that wanchancy annual sang Straucht, at the name, a trusty tyke, Pleased although mebbe no pleased-like- "Weel," an' says you, wi' heavin' breist, Sae far, sae guid, but what's the neist? Yearly we gaither to the feast, A' hopefu' men Yearly we skelloch Hang the beast- My lads, an' what am I to say? TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB Yestreen, as gleg's a tyke- the day, Her conduc', that to her's a play, Aft whan I sat an' made my mane, Ye judged me cauld's a chucky stane - But saw ye ne'er some pingein' bairn As weak as a pitaty-par'n'— Less used wi' guidin' horse-shoe airn Than steerin' crowdie Packed aff his lane, by moss an' cairn, To ca' the howdie. Wae's me, for the puir callant than! Till, blaff! upon his hinderlan' Sic-like- I awn the weary fac' - To me, the brig o' Heev'n gangs black "Lordsake! we're aff," thinks I, "but whaur? An' will she just disgrace? or waur· Kittle the quaere! But at least The day I've backed the fashious beast, An' a' triumphant - for your feast, EMBRO HIE KIRK HE Lord Himsel' in former days TW Lord out the proper tunes for praise An' named the proper kind o' claes Preceese and in the chief o' ways He ordered a' things late and air'; An' pit pomatum on their hair On Sabbath mornin'. The hale o' life by His commands An' God's religion in a' lands Is deid an' rotten. While thus the lave o' mankind's lost, Puir Scotland, on whase barren coast A score or twa Auld wives wi' mutches an' a hoast Still keep His law. In Scotland, a wheen canty, plain, The Truth or did so aince - alane An' noo just twa o' them remain — For noo, unfaithfü' to the Lord Auld Scotland joins the rebel horde; Her human hymn-books on the board She noo displays: An' Embro Hie Kirk's been restored In popish ways. O punctum temporis for action Thocht, word, or sermon, For see as Doctor Begg explainsHoo easy 't's düne! a pickle weans, Wha in the Hie Street gaither stanes By his instruction, The uncovenantit, pentit panes Ding to destruction. |