What gars ye sing sae, birdie, br As gien ye war lord o' the lift? br On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, br But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! br br A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in br 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! br The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin br Wi a lang tow o' sapphire notes! br br Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel br For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, br Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel br Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! br br But though ye canna behaud, birdie, br Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! br I'm noucht but a hirplin herdie, br But I hae a sang i' my breist! br br Len' me yer throat to sing throu, br Len' me yer wings to gang hie, br And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, br And for bliss to gar him dee!br br George MacDonaldbr br