The Blind Shepherd

    The land is white, an’ far awa’
        Abune ae bush an’ tree
    Nae fit is movin’ i’ the snaw
        On the hills I canna see;
    For the sun may shine an’ the darkness fa’,
        But aye it’s nicht to me.

    I hear the whaup on windy days
        Cry up amang the peat
    Whaur, on the road that speels the braes,
        I’ve heard my ain sheep’s feet,
    An’ the bonnie lambs wi’ their canny ways
        An’ the silly yowes that bleat.

    But noo wi’ them I mauna’ be,
        An’ by the fire I bide,
    To sit and listen patiently
        For a fit on the great hillside,
    A fit that’ll come to the door for me
        Doon through the pasture wide,

    Maybe I’ll hear the baa’in’ flocks
        Ae nicht when time seems lang,
    An’ ken there’s a step on the scattered rocks
        The fleggit sheep amang,
    An’ a voice that cries an’ a hand that knocks
        To bid me rise an’ gang.

    Then to the hills I’ll lift my een
        Nae matter tho’ they’re blind,
    For Ane will treid the stanes between
        And I will walk behind,
    Till up, far up i’ the midnicht keen
        The licht o’ Heaven I’ll find.

    An’ maybe, when I’m up the hill
        An’ stand abune the steep,
    I’ll turn aince mair to look my fill
        On my ain auld flock o’ sheep,
    An’ I’ll leave them lyin’ sae white an’ still
        On the quiet braes asleep.