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Dauvit caas him ‘lord’, hou can he be his son?”

      That freelie fickelt them aa; an frae that day forrit naebodie daured speir onie mair queystins at him.

      23 EFTER THIS, JESUS spak tae the croud an his disciples.

      “The Doctors o the Law an the Pharisees,” qo he, “sits on Moses’ sait; an sae ye behuive tae dae an keep aathing at they say ye maun dae an keep. But daena as they dae, for their daein is no conform til their sayin. They mak up hivvie birns an lay them on ither men’s shuithers, but themsels they winna pit out a finger tae mudge them. Aathing they dae, they dae tae hae fowk glowrin efter them. They mak their text-chairms by-ordinar braid an the babs o their mantílles by-ordinar lang; they maun ey hae the first place at a denner, an a foresait i the meetin-houss; they ar ill for fowk tae bid them ‘Guid-day’ an ‘Guid-een’ i the mercat, an tae get ‘Rabbi’ frae aabodie. But latna fowk caa ye ‘Rabbi’, for ye hae but the ae maister an ar aa brithers til ilk ither. An caana onie-ane on the yird your ‘Faither’, for ye hae but the ae faither, your Faither in heiven. Latna fowk caa ye ‘Doctor’ aitherins, for the Christ is your Doctor. The grytest o ye aa maun be the servan o ye aa; an him at up-heizes himsel will be hummelt, an him at hummles himsel will be up-heized.

      “Black s’ be your faa, Doctors o the Law an Pharisees, hýpocrítes at ye ar! Ye steik the yett o the Kíngdom o Heiven in men’s faces; ye gangna in yoursels, an them at seeks in ye hender tae win ben.

      “Black s’ be your faa, Doctors o the Law an Pharisees, hýpocrítes at ye ar! Ye gang athort laund an sea tae mak ae convèrt, an whan ye hae him convertit, ye mak o him a Deivil’s limb double as ill as yoursels.

      “Black s’ be your faa, blinnd gydes at says, ‘Him at sweirs bi the Temple, it is naething: but him at sweirs bi the gowd o the Temple is bund bi his aith.’ Blinnd fuils at ye ar, whilk is o mair account—the gowd, or the Temple at sanctifíes the gowd? Or again, ‘Him at sweirs bi the altar, it is naething,’ ye say: ‘but him at sweirs bi the gift upò’d is bund bi his aith.’ Blinnd men at ye ar, whilk is a mair account—the gift, or the altar at sanctifíes the gift? Na: him at sweirs bi the altar sweirs baith bi hit an bi aathing upò’d, an him at sweirs bi the Temple sweirs baith bi hit an bi him at dwalls in it, an him at sweirs bi heiven sweirs baith bi the throne o God an bi him at sits on it.

      “Black s’ be your faa, Doctors o the Law an Pharisees, hýpocrítes at ye ar! Ye pey teinds o mint an anet an cummin, but mislippen the wechtier things o the Law—juistice, mercie, an guid faith. But thir things ye behuived tae practíse, onmislippent the ithers. Blinnd gydes at ye ar, ⁵¹ye stummle at a strae, an lowp owre a brae!

      “Black s’ be your faa, Doctors o the Law an Pharisees, hýpocrítes at ye ar! The caup an the bicker ye dicht them weill ithout, but ithin they ar lippin-fu o greed an gilravagin. Oh, blinnd, blinnd Pharisees, first dicht the inside o the caup, an syne ye s’ hae the outside dichtit an clean as weill!

      “Black s’ be your faa, Doctors o the Law an Pharisees, hýpocrítes at ye ar! Ye ar like white-wuishen graffs, at luiks bonnie an braw outside, but inside is fu o deid men’s banes an aa kin o filth an fulyie. Een sae wi ye: tae luik at ye, aabodie wad think ye honest, weill-daein fowk, but ithin ye ar pang fu o hýpocrisie an wickitness.

      “Black s’ be your faa, Doctors o the Law an Pharisees, hýpocrítes at ye ar! Ye bigg the graffs o the Prophets an decore the lairs o the Saunts, an syne ye threap, ‘Gin we hed líved i the days o wir forebeirs, we wadna taen pairt wi them in skailin the bluid o the Prophets!’ Wi that ye gíe witness again yoursels at ye ar the sons o them at murthert the Prophets: caa ye awà, than, an pit the caipstane on your forebeirs’ wark! Ye serpents, ye getts o ethers, hou can ye escape damnâtion tae hell?

      “An sae nou I’m sendin amang ye prophets an wyss men an men o lair. Some o them ye’ll kill an crucifíe, an ithers ye’ll leash in your meetin-housses an hund frae toun tae toun, sae at on ye may faa the gilt o aa the sakeless bluid e’er skailed on the yird, frae the bluid o sakeless Abel tae the bluid o Zecharíah, the son o Barachíah, at ye felled atweesh the Temple an the altar. Atweill, I tell ye, this generâtion will mak mends for aa thae ill deeds!

      “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, at kills the Prophets an stanes them at is sent til her, hou aft wad I fain hae gethert your bairns about me, as a hen gethers her brodmil aneth her wíngs, but ye, ye wadna lat me! See, nou is your houss forhoued;³ for I tell ye, frae this time forrit ye s’ see me nae mair or the day whan ye say, ‘Blissit is him at comes i the name o the Lord’!”

      24 JESUS NOU QUAT the Temple; an, as he gaed alang, the disciples cam up an baud him luik up at the Temple biggins.

      “Ye see aa that?” qo he. “Atweill, I tell ye, no ae stane o them aa will be left abuin anither: the haill Temple will be but a rickle.”

      Efterhin, whan he wis sittin his lane on the Hill o Olives, the disciples cam up an said til him, “Whan is thae things tae be? An whattan taiken will we hae at your back-comin an the hinnerend o the praisent warld is naurhaund?”

      Jesus answert, “Tak tent at nae man leads ye agley! For monie-ane will kythe, takkin my name an threapin, ‘I am the Christ’; an monie feck they will lead agley. Ye will hear tell o wars an souchs o war, but be ye nane flichtert. Siccan things maun een be, but that isna the end. For fowk will mak war on fowk, an kinrick on kinrick; an faimins there will be an yirdquauks in orra pairts. Aa thae things is but the onfaa o the birth-thraws.

      “Than will they haund ye owre tae them at will sair ill-gyde ye an kill ye, an in ilka laund ye will be hatit because ye beir my name. Monie will tyne their faith i thae days an betray ilk ither for hate. Monie fauss prophets will kythe an lead monie agley, an wi the wickitness lairge in ilka place the luve o the maist feck will grow cauld. But him at hauds out till the end will be saufed. Mairatowre, this Gospel o the Kíngdom will first be preached out-throu the haill warld an made kent til the haithen aagate, an syne the end will come.

      “Whan, therefore, ye see the Deidlie Ugsome Thing at the Prophet Daniel spak o staundin i the Halie Place”—ye at reads this, tak tent!—“them at wons in Judaea maun tak the hills. Him at is up on his houss-heid maunna gae doun intil the houss tae lift his gear, an him at is afíeld maunna gang back hame tae fesh his coat. Wae’s me for weimen at is big wi bairn or gíein souk i thae days! Pray at your flicht faasna in wintertime, or on the Sabbath, for the dule an dree o that time will be sic as there hesna been the like o frae the beginnin o the warld till nou, nor nivermair will be. Gin thae days hedna been shortent, nae-ane avà wad be left tae the fore: but shortent they will be for the sake o the Eleck. Gin onie-ane says tae ye than, ‘Luik, here’s the Christ’, or, ‘See, yonder’s the Christ’, lippen-him-na. For monie fauss Christs an fauss prophets will kythe an wurk míracles an ferlies tae gar een the Eleck gae will, coud sic a thing be. Mind, nou, I hae wairned ye! Gin they say tae ye than, ‘He’s thereout i the muirs’, gang-ye-na furth; or gin they tell ye, ‘He’s ben the houss in ane o the chaumers’, lippen-them-na. For as the fireflaucht lowps leamin athort the lift frae the aist tae the wast, een sae will be the comin o the Son o Man. Whaur the carcage liggs, thair the vulturs forgethers.

      “As shune as thae days o dule an dree is by,

       The sun will be mirkit,

       an the muin winna gíe her licht;

      the stairns will faa frae the carrie,

      an the pouers i the lift will be dinnelt.

      Than will the sign o the Son o Man kythe i the lift, an aa the clans o the yird will murn an baet their breists; an they will see the Son o Man comin on the clouds o the lift wi unco micht an glore. Wi a dunnerin blast o the horn he will send furth his angels; an they will gether his Eleck frae the fowr airts, frae the tae end o the lift tae the tither.

      “Tak a lesson o the feg-tree. Whan its ryss grows sappie an saft, an the leafs onfaulds, ye ken at the simmer is naur. Siclike, whan ye see aa thir things happnin, ye maun ken at the end is

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