English

There are large flourishing trees
Cool spring water
And lots of different animals
This is my home
My grandparents lived here
Grandpa cut
The big trees
But they bravely sprang up again
The animals here
All know me
In the grass or in the trees
They look at me
The wind springs from the valley
Telling tales of my ancestors
It says
The shadows of my ancestors
Still float amid the white clouds
The brave spirit of my ancestors
Still hangs amid the big, old trees
But the footprints of my ancestors

Let not Today, procrastinating, borrow
One single Precious Hour of Tomorrow.

I T will not do Itself; while you delay,
The Task grows harder; put it through Today!

Today is all your own;
Tomorrow, God's alone.

I N Putting Off your Tasks and Ruing them
You Waste more Time than you would Spend in Doing them.

A M AN consumes the Time you make him Wait
In thinking of your Faults—so don't be late!

Bright pearl, kingfisher plume bed drapes,
Gold leaf, sheer green silk door tapestries
Lifting now and then with the wind.
I imagine I see your charming face
At dawn when you put on your tiara,
At dark when you slip off your silk dress
Well, give yourself to Mr. Libertine!
Does love have to be selfish?

A THOUSAND fops may flatter to deceive,
Yet doubt their transports, nor their vows believe;
But if a feeling heart with love should burn,
Approve the passion, and the love return;
For few the joys this checquer'd life bestows,
Its pleasures fleeting! permanent its woes!
Yet love can gild, with brightest rays the scene,
And hope can make the barren desart green;
For sure if bliss to human kind is known,
'Tis when two breasts a mutual passion own;
When hopes and fears to one dear object tend,
And the sweet mistress is the truest friend!

Whene'er I lift my eyes to bliss,
I stagger blind with pain,
Afar into the folding night
The silence, and the rain.

Whene'er I feel the urge of Spring,
A throbbing, unknown woe
Enfolds me; I am desolate
When love is calling low.

Oh, this firefly!—seen by daylight, the nape of its neck is red!

A GAIN I ha'e ta'en to the clinkin' o' rhymes—
It's no on the signs, it's the deeds o' the times
O' whilk I wad speak; about what is gaun on
Aroun' us, amang us, an' farther beyon'.

Ye renegade churchmen—oh, ill be yer speed!
Ye've murdered auld Luther, an' stickit the creed;
Wi' Pusey for leader, ye're marchin' on Rome,
Is “the wee bit endoomintie” yours whan ye come?

O spirit of Calvin! O shade of John Knox!
The Kirk is in danger, her faith orthodox;
In Moses, the God-given commandments an' law,

J UISI noo there are mony wha rin to an' fro,
An' knowledge increases, abune an' below;
The yird's like a riddle, pits, tunnels, an' bores,
Whaur bodies, like mowdies, by hunners an' scores
Are houkin', an' holin', an' blastin' the rocks;
An' droonin's an' burnin's, explosions an' shocks,
An' a' ither meagries, amang us are rife;
Oh, mony's the slain in the battle o' life!
It's Mammon we worship, wi' graspin' an' greed,
Wi' sailin' an' railin' at telegraph speed,
Get gowd oot the ironstane, an' siller frae coal,

This while I've been ettlin' to string a wheen rhymes,
Being unco sair fash'd at the signs o' the times—
The mony dark omens aroun' an' abune,
The upshot o' whilk will be seen on us sune.

The cholera's wan'ering roun' us this while,
An' I watna hoo sune it may come to our isle,
Whan, on Sabbath, instead o' a ride on the rail,
We may follow the deid-cart wi' greetin' an' wail.

The pest 'mang oor bestial is spreading like fire,
The sta's are a' toom noo in mony a byre,
The hirsels are dwinin' on hillside an' lea,

I' VE juist been thinkin', neebour Johnnie,
Gif that the warl had mendit ony—
Since, for the wurkin' man's disasters,
We've got sae mony sa's and plaisters.
I've leukit laigh—I've leukit heigh—
The gude time comin's unco dreigh;
There's routh o' teachers, schules, an' beuks,
Chapels an' kirks in a' the neuks,
Academies an' institutions,
Wi' scientific contributions,
On whilk ye may put a' reliance,
An' muckle tauk on social science,
Mechanics, engineerin', minin',
The gate o' cleanin' an' refinin'