The Shorter Catechism

When I was young and herdit sheep,
I read auld tales o’ Wallace wight;
My heid was fou o’ sangs and threip
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 just like a’ that e’er were born,
I fling my heels and tak’ my course –
I’d sell the minister in the morn.

Sae hearken to me, lads,
It’s truith that I tell: –
There’s nae man deid honest –
I ken by mysel’.