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Elphinstone Kist   Doric Verse

    by: Mackie, Dr Lewis

O’ Lord abune its weel ye ken a’m growin auld an tak a len’
O’ fowk that gie ma age respeck,
Forcin opeenions doon their neck.
Pernickity, an’ brash I fear, fractious, ill mannered, coorse an’ swier.
O’ Lord ma freen mak me tak tent, tae listen mair should be ma bent.
Ma sermonisin please amend. A’ll need a few freens at the end.
Ye ken gweed Lord, ma aches an’ pains,
They can be made a sad refrain,
Bit rehearsin them can be too sweet.
Mak me listen mair an nae compete.
Ma memory is gan tae pot, improvement there canna be got,
Bit mak me humble an’ less cocksure,
Admit mistaks an’ keep thochts pure,
See gweed things far they’re least expected
An’ talents in fowk aften rejected.
O’ heavenly Lord mak me nae saint, for I’d be hell tae live anent.
Jist mak me reasonably cordial, accept life’s woes an’ bide congenial.
Ye ken that soor auld fowk are hell,
The crownin work a’ the Deil himsel.
Sae heed ma prayer, let your grace shine,
An’ a’ the glory shall be thine.



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