Robert Burns ( 10 of 99 )
Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!
Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!
When chill November's surly blast make fields and forest bare.
When chill November's surly blast make fields and forest bare.
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
from the poem
The Cotter’s Saturday Night.
Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
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Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
In scented bowers!
Ye roses on your thorny tree
The first o' flow'rs.
There's some are fou o' love divine,
There's some are fou' o' brandy.
There's some are fou o' love divine,
There's some are fou' o' brandy.
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent;
Long read more
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent;
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content.
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.
The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, read more
The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And all that thou hast done for me!
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing:
But, och! it hardens a' within,
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I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing:
But, och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!
