Closely allied tae Deborah
In things o’ daith an’ life,
We meet this wummin Jael, as
Heber the Kenite’s wife.

King Jabin an’ hir folk guid freens,
Yit whun his soger fled;
She met him an’ hir sympathy
The captain sore misled.

Poor Sisera he trusted hir
An’ went richt aff tae sleep;
Lein’ hir as true sentry-go
The tent-daur safe tae keep.

But as he slept she softly stole
An’ hemmer’d through his heid,
A spike which pinn’d him tae the grun’,
An’ held him till he deid.

Although this wumin’ o’ the Word
Is lang deid a’ awa’
The acts which brocht hir intae it
Did nae depert ava.

Fur sure monie hae been deceiv’d,
Weemin as weel as men;
Bae sweet pretenshious fair-fas’d freens
O’ whom there is nae en’

Wha gie ye better nor ye ex
Gar ye at hame tae feel,
Until some time ye realise
Yer underneath their heel.

Dear sisters, God has gi’en ye powers,
That nae sane man can doot;
Then hae a care, Oh, hae a care,
An’ watch whut yer aboot.

We know this man focht in the wrang,
Which niver comes oot richt;
So may we only dae those things
Weel-pleasin’ in God’s sicht.

A.L.F. 1st April 1916

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