Robert Burns

The fear o' hell's the hangman's whip
To laud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel read more

The fear o' hell's the hangman's whip
To laud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honor grip,
Let that aye be your border.

Even thou who mournst the daisy's fate,
That fate is thine--no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, read more

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!

And there begins a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.

And there begins a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.

Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.