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George MacDonald - The Auld Man`s Prayer
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Lord, I`m an auld man,
An` I`m deein!
An` do what I can
I canna help bein
Some feart at the thoucht!
I`m no what I oucht!
An` thou art sae gran`,
Me but an auld man!

I haena gotten muckle
Guid o` the warld;
Though siller a puckle
Thegither I hae harlt,
Noo I maun be rid o` `t,
The ill an` the guid o` `t!
An` I wud—I s` no back frae `t—
Rather put til `t nor tak frae `t!

It`s a pity a body
Coudna haud on here,
Puttin cloddy to cloddy
Till he had a bit lan` here!—
But eh I`m forgettin
Whaur the tide`s settin!
It`ll pusion my prayer
Till it`s no worth a hair!

It`s awfu, it`s awfu
To think `at I`m gaein
Whaur a` `s ower wi` the lawfu,
Whaur`s an en` til a` haein!
It`s gruesome to en`
The thing `at ye ken,
An` gang to begin til
What ye canna see intil!

Thou may weel turn awa,
Lord, an` say it`s a shame
`At noo I suld ca`
On thy licht-giein name
Wha my lang life-time
Wud no see a stime!
An` the fac` there`s no fleein—
But hae pity—I`m deein!

I`m thine ain efter a`—
The waur shame I`m nae better!
Dinna sen` me awa,
Dinna curse a puir cratur!
I never jist cheatit—
I own I defeatit,
Gart his poverty tell
On him `at maun sell!

Oh that my probation
Had lain i` some region
Whaur was less consideration
For gear mixt wi` religion!
It`s the mixin the twa
`At jist ruins a`!
That kirk`s the deil`s place
Whaur gear glorifees grace!

I hae learnt nought but ae thing
`At life`s but a span!
I hae warslet for naething!
I hae noucht i` my han`!
At the fut o` the stairs
I`m sayin my prayers:—
Lord, lat the auld loon
Confess an` lie doon.

I hae been an ill man—
Micht hae made a guid dog!
I could rin though no stan—
Micht hae won throu a bog!
But `t was ower easy gaein,
An` I set me to playin!
Dinna sen` me awa
Whaur`s no licht ava!

Forgie me an` hap me!
I hae been a sharp thorn.
But, oh, dinna drap me!
I`ll be coothie the morn!
To my brither John
Oh, lat me atone—
An` to mair I cud name
Gien I`d time to tak blame!

I hae wullt a` my gear
To my cousin Lippit:
She needs `t no a hair,
An` wud haud it grippit!
But I`m thinkin `t `ll be better
To gie `t a bit scatter
Whaur it winna canker
But mak a bit anchor!

Noo I s`try to sit loose
To the warld an` its thrang!
Lord, come intil my hoose,
For Sathan sall gang!
Awa here I sen` him—
Oh, haud the hoose agane him,
Or thou kens what he`ll daur—
He`ll be back wi` seven waur!

Lord, I knock at thy yett!
I hear the dog yowlin!
Lang latna me wait—
My conscience is growlin!
Whaur but to thee
Wha was broken for me,
But to thee, Lord, sae gran`,
Can flee an auld man!
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