(4 November 1872 - 1934 / Scotia, Lake Erie, Ontario)

Janet

Janet, she was trim and small,
Swift her feet could go;
Sandy, he was great and tall,
Sandy, he was slow.

Dark the curls on Janet's heid,
Dark her een, and true;
Sandy's hair was straicht an' reid,
Sandy's een were blue.

Sandy had been coortin' lang,
Sandy wasna bold,
Blushed when Janet trilled the sang,
Sweet as it is old:

'Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?'

Janet's lips were reid and ripe,
Full o' sic delichts;
Longing for them spoiled the pipe
Sandy smoked o' nichts.

Janet laughed when he would sigh,
Janet wasna kin'.
Spite o' a' as days went by
Janet filled his min'.

When in kirk he sat and heard
Sermons deep and lang,
Every fluttering bird ootside
Seemed piping Janet's sang.

Through the psalm, and through the prayer,
Thought went wanderin' wide-
O what were toil, what were care,
Wi' Janet by his side?

Janet, wi' the waist sae sma',
Janet, dear indeed;
Sermon, psalm, and prayer, and a',
Sandy didna heed-

Going hame at sober pace
Made confession-sae:
'Hearken, Lord! hide no Thy face
Though I go astray.

'Help me juist tae do my pairt-
Win her if I can-
Sae I plead wi' a' my hairt,
Help a sinfu' mon!'

Surely faith was in that prayer.
Ere an hour went by
Janet cam' wi' lichtsome air
Through the fields o' rye.

Sandy, tak' ye hairt o' grace-
Surely 'tisna wrang-
Here's the lass wi' saucy face,
How runs Janet's sang?

'Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body
Need a body cry?'

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