Classic Poem

Gae nourish the feeble, gae shelter the sma',
Gae succour your freend when his back 's at the wa',
A gift gi'en in kindness aye brings blessings wi't,
The mair that ye gie, aye the mair will ye get.

The farmer wha'd see his fields loaded wi' grain,
His hand in the sawing time maunna restrain;
Poor starved nither'd land never gae muckle yet
The mair that ye gie, aye the mair will ye get.

The stream feeds the forest that shades its clear brow,
The forest woos rain cluds that flood the stream fu',
The rain cluds that fa' are wi' balmy dews met;
The mair that ye gie, aye the mair will ye get.

The rich canna use a' that's fa'en to their share,
The poorest, gin willing, hae something to spare;
Then share what ye hae, though an unca wee bit;
The mair that ye gie, aye the mair will ye get.