Some books are lies frae end to end.
Misled by fancy's meteor ray, By passion driven; But yet the light that led astray Was light from heaven.
A mind that is conscious of its integrity scorns to say more than it means to perform.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended!
The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip To haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honour grip, Let that aye be your border.