A Lowden Sabbath Morn

 
In their expression.
 

XII

 
The prentit stanes that mark the deid,
Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious
read;
Syne wag a moraleesin' heid,
An' then an' there
Their hirplin' practice an' their
creed
Try hard to square.
 

XIII

 
It's here our Merren lang has
lain,
A wee bewast the table-stane;
An' yon's the grave o' Sandy
Blane;
An' further ower,
The mither's brithers, dacent
men!
Lie a' the fower.
 

XIV

 
Here the guidman sall bide
awee
To dwall amang the deid; to
see
Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e;
Belike to hear
Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee
On fancy's ear.
 

XV

 
Thus, on the day o' solemn
things,
The bell that in the steeple
swings
To fauld a scaittered faim'ly
rings
Its walcome screed;
An' just a wee thing nearer
brings
The quick an' deid.
 

XVI

 
But noo the bell is ringin' in;
To tak their places, folk begin;
The minister himsel' will
shüne
Be up the gate,
Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin
An' man's estate.
 

XVII

 
The tünes are up —French, to
be shüre,
The faithfü' French, an' twa-
three mair;
The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair,