Just Now I've Taen The Fit O'

Good Lord, What Is Man! For As Simple He Looks, Do But Try To Develop His Books And His Crooks, With His Depths And His Shallows, His Good And His Evil, All In All, He's A Problem Must Puzzle The Devil.

Even Thou Who Mournst The Daisy's Fate, That Fate Is Thine--no Distant Date; Stern Ruin's Ploughshare Drives, Elate, Full On Thy Bloom, Till Crushed Beneath The Furrow's Weight Shall Be Thy Doom!

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot, And Never Brought To Min?

Nature's Law, That Man Was Made To Mourn. Man's Inhumanity To Man Makes Countless Thousands Mourn! O Death, The Poor Man's Dearest Friend, The Kindest And The Best!

The Fear O' Hell's A Hangman's Whip To Haud The Wretch In Order; But Where Ye Feel Your Honour Grip, Let That Aye Be Your Border.