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and life along the winding road

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Kirkin' of the Tartans

Traditional Scottish Songs The Dark Island PhotosI love the American tradition of Kirking o' the Tartans which originated after WWII in New York Presbyterian Church, Washington D.C.  as a blessing for Scottish/Americans. However, some think the blessing of the tartans may have resulted from the Act of Prosciption in 1716 which banned the wearing of Scottish Tartans and clansmen smuggled a small piece of tartan into Scottish churches to be blessed.
Fort Worth First Presbyterian Church always have a lovely service this time of year with presentation of the tartans accompanied by the North Caledonian Pipes and Drums (and bagpipes).
Psalm 23 was read in Scottish dialect.
Lunch was served following the service (and a presenting of the haggis). There was colcannon which was made with turnip instead of potatoes, and chicken in the heather followed by toffee sticky pudding and cream.

Psalm 23
The Lord is my Shepherd in nocht am I wantin'
In the haugh's green girse does He mak me lie doon
While mony puir straiglers are bleatin' and pantin'
By saft-flowin' burnies He leads me at noon.
When aince I had strayed far awa in the bracken,
And daidled till gloamin' cam ower a' the hills,
Nae dribble o' water my sair drooth to slacken,
And dark grow'd the nicht wi' its haars and its chills.
Awa frae the fauld, strayin' fit-sair and weary,
I thocht I had naethin' tae dae but tae dee.
He socht me and fand me in mountain hechts dreary,
He gangs by fell paths which He kens best for me.
And noo, for His name's sake, I'm dune wi' a' fearin'
Though cloods may aft gaither and soughin' win's blaw.
"Hoo this?" or "Hoo that?" -- oh, prevent me frae spearin'
His will is aye best, and I daurna say "Na".
The valley o' death winna fleg me to thread it,
Through awfu' the darkness, I weel can foresee.
Wi' His rod and His staff He wull help me to tread it,
Then wull its shadows, sae gruesome, a' flee.
Forfochen in presence o' foes that surround me,
My Shepherd a table wi' denties has spread.
The Thyme and the Myrtle blaw fragrant aroond me,
He brims a fu' cup and poors oil on my head.
Surely guidness an' mercy, despite a' my roamin'
Wull gang wi' me doon tae the brink o' the river.
Ayont it nae mair o' the eerie an' gloamin'
I wull bide in the Hame o' my Faither for ever.


Joanne said...

sounds very stirring

K9friend said...

There's nothing like the wail of bagpipes!

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