Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.
VII. The Blast1875
I
Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod—
A maist unceevil thing o’ God
In mid July—
If ye’ll just curse the sneckdraw, dod!
An’ sae wull I!
An’ lea’s us puir, forjaskit men
Clamjamfried in the but and ben
He ca’s the earth—
A wee bit inconvenient den
No muckle worth;
Sees what puir mankind are about;
An’ if He can, I’ve little doubt,
Upsets their plans;
He hates a’ mankind, brainch and root,
And a’ that’s man’s.
An’ life i’ the sun looks braw an’ plain,
Doun comes a jaw o’ droukin’ rain
Upon their honours—
God sends a spate outower the plain,
Or mebbe thun’ers.
Simmer an’ Winter, Yule an’ Spring,
The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring
A feck o’ trouble.
I wadnae try’t to be a king—
No, nor for double.
We maun be watchfü’, wise an’ skilly,
An’ no mind ony ither billy,
Lassie nor God.
But drink—that’s my best counsel till ’e:
Sae tak the nod.