My Ancestors

 A barefoot boy I went to school
 To save a cobbler's fee,
For though the porridge pot was full
 A frugal folk were we;
We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,
 And counted each bawbee.


We reft our living from the soil,
 And I was shieling bred;
My father's hands were warped with toil,
 And crooked with grace he said.

My mother made the kettle boil
 As spinning wheel she fed.


My granny smoked a pipe of clay,
 And yammered of her youth;
The hairs upon her chin were grey,
 She had a single tooth;
Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say,
 For I would speak the truth.


You of your ancestry may boast,--
 Well, here I brag of mine;
For if there is a heaven host
 I hope they'll be in line:
My dad with collie at his heel
 In plaid of tartan stripe;
My mammie with her spinning wheel,
 My granny with her pipe.

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