Some wee short hour ayont the twal.

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.

Firmness in enduring and exertion is a character I always wish to possess. I have always despised the whining yelp of complaint and cowardly resolve.

Good Lord, what is man! for as simple he looks, Do but try to develop his books and his crooks, With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the devil.

As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.

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.

Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.