Be kind to grandfather,â€”a proud man was he
When rosy in childhood ye sat on his knee;
Thy name is his name, when his head is laid low,
May his virtues be linkâ€™d wiâ€™ the name oâ€™ his oe.
He led thy young feet where the buttercups grew
Anâ€™ gowans were thickest, anâ€™ puâ€™d them for you;
But wad glint, lest the neebors or ony might see,
And say that the auld fule was ower proud oâ€™ thee.
By Parkheadâ€™s nameless burnie, where rashes did grow,
A cap he wad weave for thy fair curly pow,
Anâ€™ a boat wiâ€™ a string,â€”when you led it alane
In your glee, the auld man was a bairn ance again.
I haâ€™e seen the big tear, when he thocht nae ane saw,
Heard the lang thochtfuâ€™ sigh, that the auld heart can draw,
Anâ€™ Iâ€™m sure that he prayed, and its burthen wad be
That the eâ€™e oâ€™ the Watchfuâ€™ wad watch over thee.
When tottâ€™rin wiâ€™ age, now, anâ€™ bent owre a rung,
The peace he inherits he wrought for when young;
Anâ€™ when ye were a wean, as he chirmâ€™d ye asleep,
He wad singâ€”Willie, mind, as ye sow ye will reap.