The Philosophy O The Ditch Poem by Violet Jacob

AWEEL, I'm cowped. But wha could tell
The road wad rin sae sair?
I couldna gang yon pace mysel,
An I winna try nae mair!
There's them wad coonsel me to stan',
But this is what I say:
When Natur's forces fecht wi man,
Dod, he maun juist gie wey!
If man's nae framed to lift his fit
Agin a natral law,
I winna lift my heid, for it
Wad dae nae guid ava.
Puir worms are we; the poupit rings
Ilk Sawbath wi the same,
Gin airth's the place for sic-like things,
I'm no sae far frae hame!
Yon's guid plain raesonin; an forby,
This pairish haes nae sense,
There's mony traivelin wad deny
Natur an Providence;
For lood an bauld the leears wage
On men like me their war,
Elected saints to thole their rage
Is what they're seekin for.
But tho a man wha's drink's his tea
Their malice maun despise,
It's no for naething, div ye see,
That I'm sae sweir to rise!