Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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| II. |
| III. |
WE'LL MAKE THE WORLD BETTER YET. |
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| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
WE'LL MAKE THE WORLD BETTER YET.
The braw folk crush the poor folk down,
An' blood an' tears are rinnin' het;
An' meikle ill and meikle wae,
We a' upon the earth ha'e met.
An' Falsehood aft comes boldly forth,
And on the throne o' Truth doth sit;
But true hearts a'—gae work awa'—
We'll mak the Warld better yet!
An' blood an' tears are rinnin' het;
An' meikle ill and meikle wae,
We a' upon the earth ha'e met.
An' Falsehood aft comes boldly forth,
And on the throne o' Truth doth sit;
But true hearts a'—gae work awa'—
We'll mak the Warld better yet!
Though Superstition, hand in hand,
Wi' Prejudice—that gruesome hag—
Gangs linkin' still—though Misers make
Their heaven o' a siller bag:
Though Ignorance, wi' bloody hand,
Is tryin' Slavery's bonds to knit—
Put knee to knee, ye bold an' free,
We'll mak the Warld better yet!
Wi' Prejudice—that gruesome hag—
Gangs linkin' still—though Misers make
Their heaven o' a siller bag:
Though Ignorance, wi' bloody hand,
Is tryin' Slavery's bonds to knit—
Put knee to knee, ye bold an' free,
We'll mak the Warld better yet!
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See yonder coof wha becks an' bows
To yonder fool wha's ca'd a lord:
See yonder gowd-bedizzen'd wight—
Yon fopling o' the bloodless sword.
Baith slave, an' lord, an' soldier too,
Maun honest grow, or quickly flit—
For freemen a', baith grit an' sma',—
We'll mak the Warld better yet!
To yonder fool wha's ca'd a lord:
See yonder gowd-bedizzen'd wight—
Yon fopling o' the bloodless sword.
Baith slave, an' lord, an' soldier too,
Maun honest grow, or quickly flit—
For freemen a', baith grit an' sma',—
We'll mak the Warld better yet!
Yon dreamer tells us o' a land
He frae his airy brain hath made—
A land where Truth and Honesty
Have crushed the serpent Falsehood's head.
But by the names o' Love and Joy,
An' Common-sense, an' Lear, an' Wit,
Put back to back,—and in a crack
We'll mak our Warld better yet!
He frae his airy brain hath made—
A land where Truth and Honesty
Have crushed the serpent Falsehood's head.
But by the names o' Love and Joy,
An' Common-sense, an' Lear, an' Wit,
Put back to back,—and in a crack
We'll mak our Warld better yet!
The Knaves an' Fools may rage an' storm,
The growling Bigot may deride—
The trembling Slave away may rin,
And in his Tyrant's dungeon hide;
But Free and Bold, and True and Good,
Unto this oath their seal have set—
“Frae pole to pole we'll free ilk soul,
The Warld shall be better yet!”
The growling Bigot may deride—
The trembling Slave away may rin,
And in his Tyrant's dungeon hide;
But Free and Bold, and True and Good,
Unto this oath their seal have set—
“Frae pole to pole we'll free ilk soul,
The Warld shall be better yet!”
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |