Song of a Geologist

Hammers an’ chisels an’ a’,
Chisels an’ fossils an’ a’;
Sir Rory’s the boy o’ the right sort o’ stuff,
Hurrah! for the hammers sae braw.

It’s good to be breakin’ a stone,
The work now is lucky an’ braw;
It’s grand to be findin’ a bone—
A fish-bone the grandest of a’.

Hammers an’ chisels an’ a’,
Chisels an’ fossils an’ a’;
Resurrection’s our trade; by raising the dead
We’ve grandeur an’ honour an’ a’.

May labour be crown’d wi’ success—
May prudence promulgate the story—
May scoffers grow every day less,
Till the rocks are a mountain o’ glory.

Hammers an’ chisels an’ a’,
Chisels an’ fossils an’ a’;
The deeper we go, the more we shall know
Of the past an’ the recent an’ a’.

Here’s freedom to dig and to learn—
Here’s freedom to think an’ to speak;
There’s nane ever grumbled to look at a stone,
Aye but creatures ’baith stupid an’ weak.

Hammers an’ chisels an’ a’,
Chisels an’ fossils an’ a’;
In spite of the devil we’ll dig as we’re able—
Hurrah! for the hammers sae braw.

Amygdaloid

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