21
House nor hame, nor farm nor steading,
Wife nor bairns hae I to see,
House nor hame, nor bed nor bedding,
What hae I frae night to dree?
Sair, alas! and sad and many
Are the ills poor mortals share,
Yet, though hame nor bed ye hae nae,
Yield nae, Soldier, to despair.
What's this life, sae wae and wearie,
If Hope's brightning beams should fail?
See, though night comes, dark and eerie,
Yon sma' cot-light cheers the dale.
There, though walth and waste ne'er riot,
Humbler joys their comforts shed,
Labour--health--content and quiet--
Mourner! there ye’se get a bed.
Wife 'tis true, wi' bairnies smiling,
There, alas! ye need nae seek---
Yet their bairns, ilk care beguiling,
Paint wi' smiles a mither's cheek.
A' her earthly pride and pleasure
Left to cheer her widow'd lot,
A' her warldly walth and treasure
To adorn her lanely cot!
Cheer, then, Soldier, midst affliction
Brightning joys will aften shine;
Virtue aye claims Heaven's protection---
Trust to providence divine!
