Page:Selection of songs, &c..pdf/7

 Wi‘ his staff in his hand, an‘ his pock on his back;

He stoiters through life on a rough stoney track;

His days whiles are dowie, but sin' they began,

He has trusted in Heaven, the Auld Beggar Man.

Poor mortals conceive as they stand on the ground.

Supported by all that is solid and sound,

’Tis a plank and beneath it, my work's to be found—

I gather them in, I gather them in.

The child, strong and healthy, careers on the heath,

Not thinking, not caring, scarce knowing of death:

In an instant he draws his last innocent breath:

I gather him in, I gather him in.

The youth in the vortex of folly and crime.

Advised to repent answers, "Not in my prime."

He would, if he knew he had run out his time;

I gather him in, I gather him in.

Says Fifty, “Poor Sixty is breaking apace,

He must long, for the health that he sees in my face”

Self-deceiver! he dreams not he's first in the race;

I gather them in, I gather them in.

Hazza !“saysthe Dotard I’m turn'd of fourscore.

And now I shall live to an hundred or more:”

At night fall his coffin is brought to his door,

I gather him in, I gather him in.

The drunkard exclaims, Fill my cup to the brim,

In water life sinks but in brandy ‘twill swim,

He dies as he speaks, and I make sure of him :

I gather him in, I gather him in.