Halting is our problem

As I was walking a’ a lane,

I heard twa corbies a making their mane

As I was walking all alane

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t’other say

‘Where sall we gang and dine to-day?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke

I wot there lies a new slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there

But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair

In this world is much for which one may wait;

There’s beds to sleep in, and there’s bread to eat;

And there’s soft arms to fold us when we’re tired;

And there’s young hearts to love us when we’re old.

And there’s a heaven for those for whom there are stars.

‘His hound is to the hunting gane

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame

His lady’s ta’en another mate

So we may mak our dinner sweet

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane

And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;

Wi ae lock o his gowden hair

We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare

In this world is much for which one may wait;

There’s beds to sleep in, and there’s bread to eat;

And there’s soft arms to fold us when we’re tired;

And there’s young hearts to love us when we’re old.

And there’s a heaven for those for whom there are stars.

‘Mony a one for him makes mane

But nane sall ken where he is gane;

Oer his white banes, when they are bare

The wind sall blaw for evermair.’