They’re angels in a hamely sphere—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
They strive frae morn till nicht,
Without, within, through but an’ ben,
To hand a’ rowin’ richt;
To keep contentit their gudemen,
Their bairnies feal an’ hale,
Till baith rise up an’ ca’ them blest—
The wives o’ Annandale.