Speed, speed, oh guile and greed, "Oh, oh, what a sigh of woe, Still, still, amid all this ill, There are souls with a touch sublime, Who nobly strive to keep alive, The hope of a happier time. "Round, round, on their earthly mound, The laden ages reel, No creak, no sound, to the ceaseless round, Of Time's eternal wheel. "Hail! hail! to those shadows pale, For they were the men of thought, And the crags were steep and the mines were deep, Where painfully they wrought; Speak, speak, why the secret keep, This mystery I would know, Say, what is breath and life and death, "Still, still, not a word ye will Vouchsafe to my greedy ear, The crags are steep and the mines are deep, And I can only hear On, on, every age has gone, With its burden on its back, And spite our will with our good and ill, We follow in the track. "Round, round, on their earthly mound, No creak, no sound, to the ceaseless round, WE'RE A' JOHN TAMSON'S BAIRNS. O come and listen to my sang, The higher that we climb the tree, And spite o' fortune's heights and houghs, Death equal-equals a'; And a' the great and mighty anes, Wha slumber 'neath the cairns, They ne'er forgot tho e'er sae great, There's heroes mang the high and low, There's nae monopoly o' worth, Amang the human race; There's nae monopoly o' pride, I've seen a joskin sae transformed, The langer that the wise man lives, There's some distinction ne'er a doubt, "Tween Jock and Master John, And yet its mostly in the dress, When every thing is known; Where'er ye meet him, rich or poor, The man o' sense and harns, By moral worth he measures a' Puir auld John Tamson's Bairns. |