The Shorter Catechism

When I was young and herdit sheep,
I read auld tales o’ Wallace wight;
My heid was fou o’ sangs and threep
O’ folk that feared nae mortal might.
But noo I’m auld and weel I ken
We’re made alike o’ gowd and mire;
There’s saft bits in the stievest men,
The bairnliest’s got a spunk o’ fire.
Sae hearken to me, lads,
It’s truith that I tell;—
There’s nae man a’ courage—
I ken by mysel’.

I’ve been an elder forty year,
I’ve tried to keep the narrow way,
I’ve walked afore the Lord in fear,
I’ve never missed the kirk a day,
I’ve read the Bible in and oot,
I ken the feck o’t clean by hert;—
But still and on I sair misdoot
I’m better noo than at the stert.

Sae hearken to me, lads,
It’s truith I maintain!—
Man’s works are but rags, for
I ken by my ain.

I hae a name for dacent trade;
I’ll wager a’ the countryside
Wad swear nae trustier man was made
The ford to soom, the bent to bide.
But when it comes to coupin’ horse
I’m juist like a’ that e’er were born,
I fling my heels and tak my course—
I’d sell the minister the morn.
Sae hearken to me, lads,
It’s truith that I tell:—
There’s nae man deid honest—
I ken by mysel’.