7 God’s law’s thro’gaen, awaukenin’ The saul mislear’d wi’ vice; His tryst o’ truth is aye richt sooth, The bairnlike makkin’ wyss.
Sood my soul ail, He mak’s it hale And airts my feet to gang, For His name’s sake, the bonny gait, Whaur’s nocht o’ ill or wrang.
The trystins promis’d in Thy Word Can aye be lippen’d fair; Thy Hoose and holiness, O Lord, Are marrows ever mair.