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The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't,
Wi' her l'll blithly bear it,
And think m lot divine.
THE ROSY BRIER.
O bonny was yon rosy brier,
That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man,
And bonnie she, and ah how dear,
It shaded frae the e'ening sun.
Yon rose-buds in the morning dew,
How pure amang the leaves sae green,
But purer was the lover's vow,
They witnessed in their shade yestreon.
All in its rude and prickly bower,
That crimson rose how sweet and fair;
But love is still a sweeter flower,
Amid life's thorny path of care.
The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,
Wi' Chloris in my arms be mine,
And I the world nor wish nor scorn,
Its joys and griefs alike resign.
FINIS.
