POETICAL EPISTLE TAE BAB MCKEEN

As on the stream o’ life we glide,
An’ up an’ doon we claw,
There’s mony a craft upon the tide
Oor fancy weel may draw.
Some like a stane plunged in a pool,
Their circles wide oot sendin’.
While ithers like a threedless spool,
Are hardly worth the kennin’.
Ava this day.

There’s some wha sen’ their ripples roon
By he’pin’ yin anither;
Their income mayna reach a croon,
An’ yet they ken a brither.
The left han’ niver seems tae see
Or note the richt yin workin’;
An’ if advice they want tae gie
In conrners it wull be lurkin’
Unseen this day.

These are the spunks that guide us on
As doon life’s pad we trudge;
Oor fortunes, dark an’ woebegone,
May shine oot wae a grudge.
Yet lichts like these, however rare
Tae sense an’ worth appearin’,
Ne’er fail to clear the misty air
An’ help us in oor steerin’
Alang this day.

‘Tis thus I trace your auld gray pow
Close tae a generation,
Wha’s wit is sure tae fire a low
In hearts o’ every station.
The wee yin as it wuns the queels
An’ keeps its school task green,
The fermer ploddin’ through his fields,
Both sing o’ you, McKeen
Wae joy this day.

Lang may your shuttle keep its way,
Your pluckstick han’ its power
Tae bring you fame an’ health untae
Your slaes are last laid ower.
Your last sink drawn o’ ony size,
In wather dry or drackey;
Tae that time comes a welcome lies
For you in Cullybackey
By nicht or day.

Cullybackey Auld Nummer,
29th February 1892