Gree, Bairnies, Gree

The moon has rowed her in a cloud,
Stravaging win’s begin
To shuggle and daud the window-brods,
Like loons that wad be in!
Gae whistle a tune in the lum-head,
Or craik in saughen tree!
We’re thankfu’ for a cozie hame—
Sae gree, my bairnies, gree.

Though gurgling blasts may dourly blaw,
A rousing fire will thow
A straggler’s taes, and keep fu’ cosh
My tousie taps-o’-tow.
O who would cule your kail, my bairns,
Or bake your bread like me?
Ye’d get the bit frae out my mouth,
Sae gree, my bairnies, gree.

Oh, never fling the warmsome boon
O’ bairnhood’s love awa’;
Mind how ye sleepit, cheek to cheek,
Between me and the wa’;
How ae kind arm was owre ye baith:
But, if ye disagree,
Think on the saft and kindly soun’
O’ “Gree, my bairnies, gree.”