THE OX

That nicht the Bairnie lay
'Mang the sweet-smellin' hay,
His young een dazed wi' Kings an' a' their sheen;
His heid He turned roon',
An' ower Him bendin' doon,
There lookit intae His, twa saft broon een.

He reached His wee han's oot
Tae the big gentle brute,
The wee face smiled intae the big broon een;
Fu' low the great heid bent,
As gin fu' weel he kent
Wha 'twas had come tae cure the beasties' teen!

THE ASS

" They crooded a' the wee low cave,
Great shinin' Kings wi' mony a slave,
Frae oot the gowden East,
Horses o' war an' camels great,
Harnessed in a' the pride o' state,
An' mony a huntin' beast.
The Bairnie looked them up an' doon,
An' careless was His ee;
Then slow His heid He turned roon',
An' looked an' smiled at me.

Some day — wha kens? — a King may ride
Fu' lowly doon the mountain side,
Tae auld Jerus'lem toon,
An' croods will cheer an' wave their palms,
An' fill the air wi' David's psalms,
An' fling their garments doon.
Ane o' ma tribe for Him that day
Will wait whaur twa roads meet,
Tae bear Him doon the mountain way,
An' up the city street!"