XI
The solemn elders at the plate
Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state:
The practised hands as gash an' great
As Lords o' Session;
The later named, a wee thing blate
In their expression.
XII
The prentit stanes that mark the deid,
Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read;
Syne way a moraleesin' heid,
An then an' there
Their hirplin' practice an' their creed
Try hard to square.
XIII
It's here our Merren lang has lain,
A wee bewast the table-stane;
An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane;
An' further ower,
The mither's brithers, dacent men!
Lie a' the fower.
XIV
Here the guidman sall bide awee
To dwall amang the deid; to see
Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e;
Belike to hear
Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee
On fancy's ear.
XV
Thus, on the day o' solemn things,
The bell that in the steeple swings
To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings
Its walcome screed;
An' just a wee thing nearer brings
The quick an' deid.
XVI
But noo the bell is ringin' in;
To tak their places, folk begin;
The minister himsel' will shune
Be up the gate,
Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin
An' man's estate.
XVII
The tunes are up - FRENCH, to be shure,
The faithfu' FRENCH, an' twa-three mair;
The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair,
Wales out the portions,
An' yirks the tune into the air
Wi' queer contortions.
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