  Could ye but ken, ye sons o’ men, How truly ye are brithers, Ye’d make guid speed to stand agreed, Tho’ born o’ various mithers. Ane common breath, ane common death, Ane hame in Heaven above ye— Ye are the fruit frae one great root In the guid God who lo’es ye. All high and low, all empty show, All envious differences, Will fade from sight and vanish quite, When men come to their senses. Each living man works out the plan For which he was intended, And he does best, who will na’ rest Until his work is ended. Your neebors’ blame, or sinful shame, Should gie your soul na’ pleasure, For while ye judge, wi’ cruel grudge, You fill your ain sad measure. Which o’ ye was the better; He wad be laith to leave ye baith, While either was his debtor. Here in life’s school wi’ pain and dool, You get your education, While mony a trip and sinful slip Helps on the soul’s salvation. The unco skeigh, Wha feel themselves maist holy, Oft learn through sin how to begin True life amang the lowly. Baith you and I may gang agley, For ’tis a common failin’; But hauld away! we need na’ stay A weepin’ and a wailin’. The God aboon cares not how soon We leave our sins behind us; He does not hate us in that state, Nor set the De’il to mind us. And as for Hell, o’ which men tell, I’m sure o’ the opinion, There’s na’ such place o’ “saving grace” In all the Lord’s dominion. Wi’ long-faced, pious fleechin’, Will find far hence, that common sense Is better than such preachin’. That which ye ca’ the power o’ law, Is but a puir invention; It counts the deed as evil seed, But winks at the intention. Could men but be mair truly free, In some things less restrickÉd, The world wad find the human kind Wad na’ be half sae wicked. The pent-up steed kept short o’ feed Is wildest in his roamin’; And dammed-up streams, wi’ angry gleams, Dash o’er each hindrance foamin’. Therefore (I pray take what I say In spirit, not in letter) Mankind should be like rivers, free— The less they’re damned the better. You need na’ heed the grousome creed Which tells ye o’ God’s anger; On Nature’s page frae age to age, His love is written stranger. Has never been one-sided, And for the weal o’ chick, or chiel, He amply has provided. The winter’s snaw, the birken shaw, The gowans The murky night, the rosy light, The laverocks The spring’s return, the wimplin burn, The cushat All join to tell how unco well God lo’es all things created. Then dinna strive to live and thrive Sae selfish and unthinkin’, But firmly stand, and lend a hand To keep the weak frae sinkin’. ’Tis love can make, for love’s sweet sake, A trusty fier Wha spends his gear O’ what may be to-morrow. The preachers say, there’s far awa’ A land o’ milk and honey, Where all is free as barley brie, And wi’out price or money; For souls in sinful blindness, And there’s a milk that’s guid for ilk “The milk o’ human kindness.” |
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