C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

James Ballantine (1808–1877)

CONFIDE ye aye in Providence,

For Providence is kind;

An’ bear ye a’ life’s changes

Wi’ a calm and tranquil mind.

Though pressed and hemmed on every side,

Ha’e faith, an’ ye’ll win through;

For ilka blade o’ grass

Keeps its ain drap o’ dew.

Gin reft frae friends, or crossed in love,

As whiles nae doubt ye’ve been,

Grief lies deep-hidden in your heart,

Or tears flow frae your e’en,

Believe it for the best, and trow

There’s good in store for you;

For ilka blade o’ grass

Keeps its ain drap o’ dew.

In lang, lang days o’ simmer,

When the clear and cloudless sky

Refuses ae wee drap o’ rain

To nature, parched and dry,

The genial night, with balmy breath,

Gars verdure spring anew,

An’ ilka blade o’ grass

Keeps its ain drap o’ dew.

Sae lest ’mid fortune’s sunshine

We should feel ower proud an’ hie,

An’ in our pride forget to wipe

The tear frae poortith’s e’e,

Some wee dark clouds o’ sorrow come,

We ken na whence or hoo;

But ilka blade o’ grass

Keeps its ain drap o’ dew.