Sunday, 3 August 2008
The Losin’ o’ the Prize
Provided by: Glynn Moore, Lisbane, County Down
Source: Found among the personal effects of his grandmother, Mrs Ellen Moore, 62 Cloughey Road, Portavogie
We' joy I staun afore you a’
My hert is fu a glee,
For I hae langed the hale year roon,
For the Sunday Schule Soiree.
Amang the nichts o' a' the year,
This nicht stauns oot the best,
A nicht when every yin could be,
For ever saved an' blest.
Just see the prizes by the scores,
Some excellent books I see,
I feel like greetin’ when I look,
For nane there is for me!
I've been an absentee a lot,
For weeks I wasna there,
My mither heard about it tae,
But a could tell her mair.
She thocht that I would get a prize,
I'm gled she isna here,
Yin look frae her would be enough,
Tae make me shake we' fear.
But if I'm spairt anither year,
Tae the Sunday Schule Soiree,
I'm shair that when I'm present there,
There'll be a prize for me.
I often wonner when I dee,
An reach the realms abin,
If there will be a prize for me,
For work that I hae dine.
It's no attendance marks that earns,
A prize frae the pierced hauns,
But faithfulness tae Him each day,
It's only that, that stauns.
Sae if you want tae earn a prize,
You'll need to faithful be,
It's waurs tae lose a prize up there,
Than at the schule soiree.