The Still Small Voice

Wee Sandy in the corner

Sits greeting on a stool,

And sair the laddie rues

Playing truant frae the school;

Then ye'll learn frae silly Sandy,

Wha's gotten sic a fright,

To do naething through the day

That may gar ye greet at night.

He durstna venture hame now,

Nor play, though e'er so fine,

And ilka ane he met wi'

He thought them sure to ken,

And started at ilk whin bush,

Though it was braid daylight—

Sae do nothing through the day

That may gar ye greet at night.

Wha winna be advised

Are sure to rue ere lang;

And muckle pains it costs them

To do the thing that's wrang,

When they wi' half the fash o't

Might aye be in the right,

And do naething through the day

That would gar them greet at night.

What fools are wilfu' bairns,

Who misbehave frae hame!

There's something in the breast aye

That tells them they're to blame;

And then when comes the gloamin',

They're in a waefu' plight

Sae do naething through the day

That may gar ye greet at night.