P Hately Waddell


This bit lilt o' his ain till David's Praise,
Whan he fought again Goliath,
Stan's like a to-fa' till the Psalms
[Quo' the LXX.]
Sma' was I amang brether o' mine;
An' the bairn was I, i' my faither's ha';
My faither's fe I was hirdin:
My han's, they wrought the organ fine;
An' my fingers, wi' thairms, the harp an' a'
They war girdin.
An' wha was't tell'd the LORD o' me?
The LORD himsel, he hearken'd till me;
An' his rinner he sent, an' he cried me awa-
Cried me awa frae my faither's fe;
An' wi' chrystin oyle o' his ain an' a',
He chrystit me:
Brether o' mine, they war brave an' braw;
An' the LORD o' them wad hae nought ava'.
Furth gaed I, till fecht wi' the frem;
Syne by his eidols he swure at me:
Bot that swurd o' his ain, I claught it frae him;
An' I sned his head frae his shouthirs trim;
An' the skaith an' the scorn I carried it a',
Frae the folk o' Israel, hame wi' me!

[I Sam. xvi. an' xvii.]