Be kind to grandfather,---a proud man was he
When rosy in childhood ye sat on his knee;
Thy name is his name, when his head is laid low,
May his virtues be link'd wi' the name o' his oe.

He led thy young feet where the buttercups grew
An' gowans were thickest, an' pu'd them for you;
But wad glint, lest the neebors or ony might see,
And say that the auld fule was ower proud o' thee.

By Parkhead's nameless burnie, where rashes did grow,
A cap he wad weave for thy fair curly pow,
An' a boat wi' a string,---when you led it alane
In your glee, the auld man was a bairn ance again.

I ha'e seen the big tear, when he thocht nae ane saw,
Heard the lang thochtfu' sigh, that the auld heart can draw,
An' I'm sure that he prayed, and its burthen wad be
That the e'e o' the Watchfu' wad watch over thee.

When tott'rin wi' age, now, an' bent owre a rung,
The peace he inherits he wrought for when young;
An' when ye were a wean, as he chirm'd ye asleep,
He wad sing---Willie, mind, as ye sow ye will reap.