The Lord Gaed Wi' A Crood O' Men Throu Jericho The Bonny; 'Twas Ill The Son O' Man To Ken Mang Sons O' Men Sae Mony: The Wee Bit Son O' Man Zacchay To See The Maister Seekit; He Speilt A Fig-Tree, Bauld An' Shy, An' Sae His Shortness Ekit. But As He Thoucht To See His Back, Roun Turnt The Haill Face Til 'Im, Up Luikit Straucht, An' Til 'Im Spak-- His Hert Gaed Like To Kill 'Im. "Come Doun, Zacchay; Bestir Yersel; This Nicht I Want A Lodgin." Like A Ripe Aipple 'Maist He Fell, Nor Needit Ony Nudgin. But Up Amang The Unco Guid There Rase A Murmurin Won'Er: "This Is A Deemis Want O' Heed, The Man'S A Special Sinner!" Up Spak Zacchay, His Hert Ableeze: "Half Mine, The Puir, Lord, Hae It; Gien Oucht I've Taen By Ony Lees, Fourfauld Again I Pay It!" Then Jesus Said, "This Is A Man! His Hoose I'm Here To Save It; He's Are O' Abraham'S Ain Clan, An' Siclike Has Behavit! I Cam The Lost To Seek An' Win."-- Zacchay Was Are He Wantit: To Ony Man That Left His Sin His Grace He Never Scantit.