The Book of Scottish Song/"It's weel it's nae waur"

"It's weel it's nae waur."

[Edward Polin, Paisley.—Here first printed.]

It's true, frien's, it's true,
An' I'm wae tae confess,
That our joy micht be mair,
An' our grief micht be less;
But we aye get a mouthfu',
Though we whiles kenna whar,
Sae, O! frien's, be thankfu'—
"It's weel it's nae waur."

We've a' dreet the girnin'
O' cauld gloomin' care,
Yet o' hope's mornin' sang
Ha'e we no had our share?
Though the cary be dark whiles,
There's aye some bit star,
Tae keep us reflectin'
"It's weel it's nae waur."

We've sicken'd in sorrow
At parting to-day,
But the meeting to-morrow
Can chase it away;
An' if some frien's ha'e wither'd
Sin' we were afar,
We ken whar their banes lie—
"It's weel it's nae waur."

Our ills ha'e been mony—
We've a' had our share,
An nae doubt we've whiles thocht
That nane could ha'e mair;
But yet there are thousan's
Mair wretched by far,
Then, O! frien's, be thankfu'—
"Its weel it's nae waur."

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