 | Poems And Songs |  |
173
SONG.
[Though some mak' licht o' warl'ly things]
Though some mak' licht o' warl'ly things,
And labour sair to shaw that;—
Pretend to scorn the wealth o' kings,
And loudly aft misca' that;—
Yet they wha aye in poortith pine,
Are ne'er sae bauld as a' that,
But aye wad deem the fortune kin'
That to their hearths wad draw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
In spite o' cant and a' that,
Content was Comfort's eldest bairn,
An's aye her pet, for a' that.
And labour sair to shaw that;—
Pretend to scorn the wealth o' kings,
And loudly aft misca' that;—
Yet they wha aye in poortith pine,
Are ne'er sae bauld as a' that,
But aye wad deem the fortune kin'
That to their hearths wad draw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
In spite o' cant and a' that,
Content was Comfort's eldest bairn,
An's aye her pet, for a' that.
Nae credit gie to chiels wha say
That rowth o' gowd and a' that,
Will only pave the weirdfu' way
To ruin, shame, and a' that.
Hae faith in “plenty an' to spare,”
An' dree nae ill frae a' that;
Mair fear ae hour o' hungry care
Than ages dreech o' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
In spite o' cant, and a' that,
Content was Comfort's eldest bairn,
An's still her pet for a' that.
That rowth o' gowd and a' that,
Will only pave the weirdfu' way
To ruin, shame, and a' that.
174
An' dree nae ill frae a' that;
Mair fear ae hour o' hungry care
Than ages dreech o' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
In spite o' cant, and a' that,
Content was Comfort's eldest bairn,
An's still her pet for a' that.
For him wha glibly can descant
On poortith's charms, and a' that,
We ken that ae short week o' want
Would cure the coof o' a' that.
Then let us trust a weel-filled purse,
Howe'er the wise misca' that,
And bend in patience 'neath the curse,—
Weel pleased to merit a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
In spite o' cant, and a' that,
Content was Comfort's eldest bairn,
An's aye her pet for a' that.
On poortith's charms, and a' that,
We ken that ae short week o' want
Would cure the coof o' a' that.
Then let us trust a weel-filled purse,
Howe'er the wise misca' that,
And bend in patience 'neath the curse,—
Weel pleased to merit a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
In spite o' cant, and a' that,
Content was Comfort's eldest bairn,
An's aye her pet for a' that.
| Poems And Songs | |