The Auld Man's Prayer

By George MacDonald

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!