 | Poems And Songs |  |
127
THERE'S AYE SOMETHING BETTER BEFORE US.
In the battle o' life, when new troubles oppress,
And fortune appears to disdain us;
When the weel-hoorded shillings are fast growin' less,
That only hard toil can regain us,—
We maunna sit doon at the brink o' despair,
But gaze through the cloud that hangs o'er us,
And maybe, wha kens, we shall see written there,
“There's aye something better before us.”
And fortune appears to disdain us;
When the weel-hoorded shillings are fast growin' less,
That only hard toil can regain us,—
We maunna sit doon at the brink o' despair,
But gaze through the cloud that hangs o'er us,
And maybe, wha kens, we shall see written there,
“There's aye something better before us.”
Although o' ae e'enin' o' happiness we
Hae naething ava to assure us,
And though o' the fruits o' ae puir labour-fee
There may be few dainties to spare us—
We maunna indulge in the yaumerer's sin,
Lest angel Content should abhor us,
But croon, wi' a glint at the regions aboon,
“There's aye something better before us.”
Hae naething ava to assure us,
And though o' the fruits o' ae puir labour-fee
There may be few dainties to spare us—
We maunna indulge in the yaumerer's sin,
Lest angel Content should abhor us,
128
“There's aye something better before us.”
When castles we build on the houp o' guid health,
Aft lameness or sickness deceives us;
And aften o' wark, aye the chief source o' wealth,
The word o' a maister bereaves us.
Sair, sair is the grief sic disasters may bring,
E'en though our kind neebors deplore us;
But sorrow leans lightly on hearts that can sing,
“There's aye something better before us.”
Aft lameness or sickness deceives us;
And aften o' wark, aye the chief source o' wealth,
The word o' a maister bereaves us.
Sair, sair is the grief sic disasters may bring,
E'en though our kind neebors deplore us;
But sorrow leans lightly on hearts that can sing,
“There's aye something better before us.”
Ye Great, wha puir Labour can grind at your will,
Unchecked by a conscience within ye,
I warn ye, defiant we look on ye still,
And free as the lark soar aboon ye.
In vain the north blast o' your anger may blaw,
In vain, perched on pride, ye ignore us,
Until ye can tak the sweet solace awa',
“There's aye something better before us.”
Unchecked by a conscience within ye,
I warn ye, defiant we look on ye still,
And free as the lark soar aboon ye.
In vain the north blast o' your anger may blaw,
In vain, perched on pride, ye ignore us,
Until ye can tak the sweet solace awa',
“There's aye something better before us.”
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