The Blind Shepherd

The land is white, an' far awa'         Abune ae bush an' tree     Nae fit is movin' i' the snaw         On the hills I canna see;     For the sun may shine an' the darkness fa',         But aye it's nicht to me.     I hear the whaup on windy days         Cry up amang the peat     Whaur, on the road that speels the braes,         I've heard my ain sheep's feet,     An' the bonnie lambs wi' their canny ways         An' the silly yowes that bleat.     But noo wi' them I mauna' be,         An' by the fire I bide,     To sit and listen patiently         For a fit on the great hillside,     A fit that'll come to the door for me         Doon through the pasture wide,     Maybe I'll hear the baa'in' flocks         Ae nicht when time seems lang,     An' ken there's a step on the scattered rocks         The fleggit sheep amang,     An' a voice that cries an' a hand that knocks         To bid me rise an' gang.     Then to the hills I'll lift my een         Nae matter tho' they're blind,     For Ane will treid the stanes between         And I will walk behind,     Till up, far up i' the midnicht keen         The licht o' Heaven I'll find.     An' maybe, when I'm up the hill         An' stand abune the steep,     I'll turn aince mair to look my fill         On my ain auld flock o' sheep,     An' I'll leave them lyin' sae white an' still         On the quiet braes asleep.