For ony that may be oot;
It's the nicht atween the Sancts an' Souls
Whan the bodiless gang aboot.

Set the chairs back to the wall, Janet,
Mak' ready for quaiet fowk,
Hae a' thing as clean as a windin'-sheet--
They comena ilka ook.

There's a spale upo' the flure, Janet,
And there's a rowan berry.
Sweep them into the fire, Janet,--
They'll be welcomer than merry.

Syne set open the door, Janet,--
Wide open for wha kens wha:
As ye come to your bed, Janet,
Set it open to the wa'."

She set the chairs back to the wa',
But ane made of the birk,
She swept the flure, but left ane spale,
A long spale o' the aik.

The nicht was lown, and the stars sat still
A-glintin' doon the sky:
And the sauls crept oot o' their mooly graves,
A' dank wi' lyin' by.

When midnight came the mither rase--