This Side An' That.

A poem by George MacDonald

The rich man sat in his father's seat--
Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine!
The puir man lay at his yett i' the street--
Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine!

To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes,
Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell;
The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs,
But whether he got them I canna tell.

Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot,
Stan by the rich man's curtained doors;
Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot
Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores.

The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran',
In linen fine his body they wrap;
But the angels tuik up the beggar man,
An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap.

The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that--
Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'!
But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat,
An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'!

The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will;
An' some they kenna what they wad be at;
But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill,
Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'This Side An' That.' by George MacDonald

comments powered by Disqus