but hark! the tent has chang'd its voice,

there's peace an' rest naenger;

for a' the real judges rise,

they canna sit for anger,

smith opens out his cauld harangues,

on practice and on morals;

an' aff the godly pour in thrangs,

to gie the jars an' barrels

a lift that day.

what signifies his barren shine,

of moral powers an' reason?

his english style, an' gesture fine

are a' clean out o' season.

like socrates or antonine,

or some auld pagan heathen,

the moral man he does define,

but ne'er a word o' faith in

that's right that day.

in guid time es an antidote

against sic poison'd nostrum;

for peebles, frae the water-fit,

ascends the holy rostrum:

see, up he's got, the word o' god,

an' meek an' mim has view'd it,

while mon-sense has taen the road,

an' aff, an' up the cowgate

fast, fast that day.

wee miller neist the guard relieves,

an' orthodoxy raibles,

tho' in his heart he weel believes,

an' thinks it auld wives' fables:

but faith! the birkie wants a manse,

so, cannilie he hums them;

altho' his carnal wit an' sense

like hafflins-wise o'eres him

at times that day.

now, butt an' ben, the change-house fills,

wi' yill-caup mentators;

here 's cryin out for bakes and gills,

an' there the pint-stowp tters;

while thick an' thrang, an' loud an'ng,

wi' logic an' wi' scripture,

they raise a din, that in the end

is like to breed a rupture

o' wrath that day.

leeze me on drink! it gies us mair

than either school or college;

it kindles wit, it waukens lear,

it pangs us fou o' knowledge:

be't whisky-gill or penny wheep,

or ony stronger potion,

it never fails, or drinkin deep,

to kittle up our notion,

by night or day.

theds an'sses, blythely bent

to mind baith saul an' body,

sit round the table, weel content,

an' steer about the toddy:

on this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk,

they're makin observations;

while some are cozie i' the neuk,

an' forming assignations

to meet some day.

but now the lord's ain trumpet touts,

till a' the hills are rairin,

and echoes back return the shouts;

ck russell is na sparin:

his piercin words, like hign' swords,

divide the joints an' marrow;

his talk o' hell, whare devils dwell,

our vera “sauls does harrow”

wi' fright that day!

a vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit,

fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane,

whase raging me, an' scorching heat,

wad melt the hardest whun-stane!

the half-asleep start up wi' fear,

an' think they hear it roarin;

when presently it does appear,

'twas but some neibor snorin

asleep that day.

'twad be owreng a tale to tell,

how mony stories past;

an' how they crouded to the yill,

when they were a' dismist;

how drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups,

amang the furms an' benches;

an' cheese an' bread, frae women'sps,

was dealt about in lunches

an' dawds that day.

in es a gawsie, gash guidwife,

an' sits down by the fire,

syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife;

thesses they are shyer:

the auld guidmen, about the grace

frae side to side they bother;

till some ane by his bonys,

an' gies them't like a tether,

fu'ng that day.

waesucks! for him that gets naess,

orsses that hae naething!

sma' need has he to say a grace,

or melvie his braw ithing!

o wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel'

how bonieds ye wanted;

an' dinna for a kebbuck-heel

letsses be affronted

on sic a day!

now clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow,

begins to jow an' croon;

some er hame the best they dow,

some wait the afternoon.

at ps the billies halt a blink,

tillsses strip their shoon:

wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink,

they're a' in famous tune

for crack that day.

how mony hearts this day converts

o' sinners and o'sses!

their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane

as saft as ony flesh is:

there's some are fou o' love divine;

there's some are fou o' brandy;

an' mony jobs that day begin,

may end in houghmagandie

some ither day.