AN AULD FISHER. WIFE'S THOCHTS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2055, 13 July 1893, Page 39

AN AULD FISHER. WIFE'S THOCHTS.

I hae never kent but the wynds an' lanes O' our am auld little toon, Whaur the win' frae the sea blaws in sac free

Wi' a sang or a waesome croon, An' I'm thinkin' hoo will I do ava, An' what'll become o' me,' When I have to gae on some near-hand day Thro' the streets o' a strange countrie ? The tongue that I speak— fell rough, good troth, At times, an/ plain to hear— O hoo will it jar, beyond mune an' star, On a saint's or archangel's ear 1 An 1 my withered face, an' my trernblin' feet, O hoo shall I daur to be Whaur the sweet harps ring, an' 'the angels sing, I' the streets o' that strange countrie ? Oor little wynds are dark an' heich, Oor streets rin to the sea, An' the smell o' the creels, an' the nets, it steals Wh'aure'er ye chance to be ; Though -the gude Buik tells o' braw streets o' gowd, Its O hoo I'll miss the sea, An' the sough o' the win' noo out, noo in, When I wander that strange countrie I There never a mune will shine by nicht, Nor a sun glint fair by day ; For the blessed grace o' the Lord's dear faca Will lichten the land alway : But I'm thinkin' that whiles I will sigh and sab For that ac sweet hour I see, When gloamin's star lichts the harbour bar, When I dwell i' that strange countrie. But there's some that's there c'en like mysel'— - They entered the gates lang syne ; I O wae was my heart wi' my kin to'pairt, An' my tears fell saut as brine ; [ My bits p' weans that could but rin, The mither dear to me, An' ane that was aye as my staff an' stay— They dwell i' that strange countrie. They hae learned the gait o' its ups an' doons, Are acquent wi' ilk door an' street, • Can speak ilk word that I've never heard— ■ An' theirs will be welcome sweet ! Will they bring me ben ? will they sot me doon 1 An' ca 1 me by my aia name ? 0 Master, smile upo' me a while, An' then I will feel at name 1 It's no the road that I dreed ava, Tho' its lanely an' shadowed o'er, — • Just a step i' the nicht, lackin* lamp or licht, Frae my am to my neebour's door : But whiles— for I've never kent but the wynds An' the lanes, an' the sough o' the sea, 1 fear— but then the dear King I ken, The King o' that strange countrie. — Deborah, in Life and Work, for May.