I've a sair hert i' my breist, O Lord! thoo knowest.

My ain Anerew! To think o' my bairnie that I cairriet i' my ain body, that sookit my breists, and leuch i' my face--to think o' 'im bein' a reprobate! O Lord! cudna he be eleckit yet?
Is there nae turnin' o' thy decrees?
Na, na; that wadna do at a'.

But while there's life there's houp.

But wha kens whether he be alive or no?
Naebody can tell.

Glaidly wad I luik upon 's deid face gin I cud believe that his sowl wasna amang the lost.