Oh bide a wee, my bonny lass,
Nor seek to lea’ the auld hame-nest;
O’ a’ earth’s luvs ye yet will fin’
A mither’s highest is, an’ best.
She watched you like a rose unfauld,
She reads you like an open buik;
You scarce need speak, she is sae quick
Tae understan’ yer ev’ry luik.
The han’ that aye fan’ time tae pat
The wee bit face sae aft turned up
For “mither’s kiss,” has workit late
An’ early for your bite an’ sup.
An’ oh! it was a struggle sair
Tae mak’ twa unco scrimp en’s meet;
In her first days o’ weedowhood
She scarce could spare the time tae greet.
Oh dinna lea’ her yet awhile;
The laddie’s young, an’ he can wait;
There was a time, when you were wee,
She micht hae had anither mate.
But she was feert he micht na be
As guid’s the fayther you had lost;
An’ though she could hae boucht her ease,
She wad na’ dae it at the cost.
An’ noo she’s auld an’ growing frail,
Your strong young arm should be her stay;
Life’s dounward slope is hard eneuch,
Be yours the han’ tae smooth the way.
Oh, bide wi’ her, an’ you will fin’
That duty done brings sweet reward;
The Maister, Christ, pleased na’ Himsel’,
Although He was creation’s Lord!