A Christmas Prayer
by: Rich, Lilianne Grant
I'm jist a humble tractorman, I kenna foo to pray
But I aften fa to thinkin -- plooin here oot on the brae --
Wi the gulls aa flockin roon me like sae mony marble doos --
I've been coontin ower my blessings; they're fyles mair nor I can use
I look up to the lift abeen and ken Ye're near me Lord
An maybe Ye'll forgie me if I try to say a word.
It winna be the wye they pray in Kirks aa ower the laan
But somehow in Yer wisdom, Lord, I ken Ye'll understaan.
It's comin on to Christmas, I hae beef and neeps and brose,
But there's them that winna hae sae much; tak peety Lord on those.
Lat nae livin thing be hungry, lat nae livin thing be cauld
Be it bird or beast on bairn or the helpless or the auld.
Gie saft warm beds to them that's ill on near their journey's eyn,
I aften thinks aboot them as I lie sae snug in mine.
Lat nae drunken dad or mither thrash or kick or bruise their bairn;
Spread Yer heavenly wings aboot them; dinna lat them come tae hairm.
The fyou bit words I'm sayin Ye could hardly ca a prayer.
I jist ask as good as I hae got for mankind everywhere
So that aa oot ower the warld when the stars are glintin bricht
There'll be Peace and Joy and Plenty on this blessed Christmas nicht.