Read "The Blast-1875" by Robert Louis Stevenson online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
IT'S rainin'. Weet's the gairden sod, / Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod- / A maist unceevil thing o' God / In mid July- / If ye'll just curse the sneckdraw, dod! / An' sae wull I!
He's a braw place in Heev'n, ye ken, / An' lea's us puir, forjaskit men / Clamjamfried in the but and ben / He ca's the earth- / A wee bit inconvenient den / No muckle worth;
An' whiles, at orra times, keeks out, / Sees what puir mankind are about; / An' if He can, I've little doubt, / Upsets their plans; / He hates a' mankind, brainch and root, / An' a' that's man's.
An' whiles, whan they tak heart again, / An' life i' the sun looks braw an' plain, / Doun comes a jaw o' droukin' rain / Upon their honours- / God sends a spate outower the plain, / Or mebbe thun'ers.
Lord safe us, life's an unco thing! / Simmer an' Winter, Yule an' Spring, / The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring / A feck o' trouble.
I wadnae try't to be a king- / No, nor for double.
But since we're in it, willy-nilly, / We maun be watchfü', wise an' skilly, / An' no mind ony ither billy, / Lassie nor God.
But drink-that's my best counsel till 'e:
Sae tak the nod.