The Philosophy Of The Ditch By Violet Jacob

    Aweel, I’m couped. But wha’ could tell
        The road wad rin sae sair?
    I couldna gang yon pace mysel’,
        An’ I winna try nae mair!

    There’s them wad coonsel me to stan’,
        But this is what I say:
    When Natur’s forces fecht wi’ man,
        Dod, he maun just give way!

    If man’s nae framed to lift his fit
        Agin’ a nat’ral law,
    I winna’ lift my heid, for it
        Wad dae nae guid ava’.

    Puir worms are we; the poo’pit rings
        Ilk Sawbath wi’ the same,
    Gin airth’s the place for sic-like things,
        I’m no sae far frae hame!

    Yon’s guid plain raes’nin’; an’ forby,
        This pairish has nae sense,
    There’s mony traiv’lin wad deny
        Natur and Providence;

    For loud an’ bauld the leears wage
        On men like me their war,
    Elected saints to thole their rage
        Is what they’re seekin’ for.

    But tho’ a man wha’s drink’s his tea
        Their malice maun despise,
    It’s no for naething, div ye see,
        That I’m sae sweir to rise!