I Ken Something

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