THE SCOTSMAN'S RETURN FROM ABROAD Proud, proud was I to see his face, Unfit for ony congregation. Syne, while I still was on the tenter, Syne, as though a' the faith was wreckit, Was no the man he üsed to be. O what a gale was on my speerit We were a' damned, an' that was clear. L XIII ATE in the nicht in bed I lay, The winds were at their weary play, An' tirlin' wa's an' skirlin' wae Through Heev'n they battered;On--ding o' hail, on-blaff o' spray, The tempest blattered. The masoned house it dinled through; Had braved a' weathers; The strang sea-gleds it took an blew The thrawes o' fear on a' were shed, An' the cauld terror clum in bed To hear in the pit-mirk on hie The brangled collieshangie flie, The warl', they thocht, wi' land an' sea, Itsel' wad cowpit; An' for auld airn, the smashed debris By God be rowpit. LATE IN THE NICHT Meanwhile frae far Aldebaran, But the wee warl' in sunshine span I, tae, by God's especial grace, A grand example to the race O' tautit sinners! The wind may blaw, the heathen rage, Cosh in my house, a sober sage, An' whiles the bluid spangs to my bree, While better men maun do an' die "Whaur's God?'' I cry, an' " Whae is me To bae sic graces? I mind the fecht the sailors keep, But fire or can'le, rest or sleep, In darkness an' the muckle deep; The herd that on the hills o' sheep I mind me on the hoastin' weans That aye maun thole the winds an' rains, An' whiles I'm kind o' pleased a blink, I'll mebbe have to thole wi' skink For God whan jowes the Judgment bell, Sall ryve the guid (as Prophets tell) And in the reamin' pat o' Hell, O Lord, if this indeed be sae, And let the puir enjoy their play- MY CONSCIENCE! F a' the ills that flesh can fear, OF The loss o' frien's, the lack o' gear, A yowlin' tyke, a glandered mear, There's just ae thing I cannae bear, Whan day (an' a' excüse) has gane, I creep apairt, My conscience! hoo the yammerin' pain Stends to my heart! A' day wi' various ends in view My conscience! whan my han's were fu', An' there were a' the lures o' life, |