Lord,
Fyle the sermon wyes yer wecht in wirdies,
(The lave, heids-booed, sit stinch, on dottlit hurdies)
WID YE HEAR, Omnipotence, fa plenished the sea
GIN I SPEIR (presumptious tho it be)
Ae question. Wis it kind,
(Gi'en as yer pouer tae gledden the begrutten)
Tae mak ME misbegotten?

I've twa guid lugs? Odd's faith, I've fairly that
Discorde an tribble's quick tae gie them scaud.
I've twa hale hauns? Marred, anely b' the faat
O' raxxin oot fur things they canna haud.
I've twa soun een? Ay, Lord, they see ower-weel
They peel fowk tae the core — an yon's a failin.
Twa craw's nest heidlichts, blinkin ower a keel
That seeks unchancy watters,tae gyaun sailin.

Syne YE'LL threep up, "Lost yowie, dinna stray.
Ye mauna covet things ye canna hae." Commandments?
Dinna tells! Yon's sophistry!

Ye framed the teemless torrent o the deep
(I'm Yer creation, Maister, bane an bluid)
Ye named the pit-mirk derk, o' enless sleep
Gin I displease, ye sud hae made me guid!