Part 20

Love! O sacred sentiment, To bless mankind thou'rt surely meant, Hope and joy and comfort giving; Love alone makes life worth living.

Brave men fight and brave men die For kindred, home, and country; They count no sacrifice too great To make for thee and liberty.

In times of peace, in times of war, Thy influence outspreading far Doth teach to play the Christian part, To soothe and heal the wounded heart.

Thro' life with all its ups and downs, When fortune smiles or when it frowns, Thou dost thy kindly vigil keep To laugh or comfort those that weep.

No tongue can ever tell thy worth; Thou art the grandest power on earth, The greatest blessing ever given; For thee our thanks ascend to heaven.

CURLIN'.

When cronies meet aroon the tee, The roarin' game's the game for me, Owre ither games it bears the gree; Then leeze me on the Curlin'.

It brings the red bluid tae the broo, Ye canna weel be doon o' moo, When bluid yer veins gangs coorsin' thro', When at the game o' Curlin'.

Gin ye wad please yer worthy skip, Stan' firm in natch an' dinna slip, Direct yer stane straucht frae the hip, When ye are at the Curlin'.

An' if he wants't a wee bit looder, Jist draw yer stane richt tae the shooder, Or he will say ye hae'na pooder, For the manly game o' Curlin'.

Gin ye expect tae win the cup, On besoms ye maun haud the grup, An' aye be there tae soop it up, When ye are at the Curlin'.

An' when ye're at the soopin' game Min' an' soop afore the stane, Or ye've nae yin but yersel' tae blame If shots ye lose at Curlin'.

Here, Lords an' Dukes wi' Rab an' Tam Meet as equals, man tae man; A heazer tae the social plan Is the guid auld game o' Curlin'.

A WORD O' ADVICE.

Lloyd-George an' Haldane hae had a cast-oot, I dinna weel ken what it's a' been aboot; I houp it is feenished; we canna afford At this creetical time tae hae ony discord.

Oor country's at war and the need is fu' great Tae staun a' thegither for Freedom an' State; The slacker's resources, likewise profiteer's, At this time o' the day we maun jist commandeer.

Employers o' labour an' dealers in grain, Ne'er let country's need be yer ain selfish gain; Siller's no everything, that ye maun ken; Let honour come first in yer dealins wi' men.

Workers wha win by the sweat o' your broo A leevin' wi' pick, hammer, shovel, or ploo, Strike na the noo--'tis the enemy's gain-- Try some ither wey tae come intae yer ain.

Let's remember the brave lads we hae at the front; For you and for me they are bearin' the brunt; An' dae a' we can tae keep up their herts, At least let them see we are playin' oor pairts.

If men o' a' parties my advice will but tak' We'll sune hae the foe on the braid o' his back; A bonnie new era we'll then usher in, And wi' militarism for ever be dune.

JOCK.

In oor lanely wee clachan there leeved a young chiel Wha had never been far frae his faither's ain biel; His manners wad lead ye tae think he was saft, An' e'en tae believe there were wairps in the waft.

'Mang his mates he was aye made the butt for the jest, An' they tried mony methods his courage tae test; But Jock's even temper they never could rile, He answered a' gibes wi' a braid sunny smile.

When war was declared an' the King called for men Frae the city, the county, the mountain, an' glen, O' the flo'er o' the clachan he got a guid stock, Strange! naebody ever yince thocht aboot Jock.

Then Jock disappeared frae the clachan yae day, Tae the nearest recruit shop he'd hastened away; An' the neist time we saw him we gat quite a shock, For a braw sodger-laddie they'd made oot o' Jock.

An' noo he's awa' tae the famed Dardanelles, An' we're prood o' the lad, for he's yin o' oorsel's, If he's spared tae come thro' nae surprise it will be If for valour he's wearin' the bonnie V.C.

THE EXILE.

One Sunday morning late in May I on the Calder banks did stray; Field and forest were in bloom, An' Nature all in perfect tune; A glorious sunshine, hum of bees, An' happy song-birds 'mang the trees; While from its bed the water's gleam Enhanced the beauty of the scene.