Sae lang’s we feel like souls set free
Frae mortal coils and speak in tongues
We dinna ken and never wull,
And find a merit in oorsels,
In Cruivies and Gilsanquhars tae,
And see the thistle as ocht but that!
For wha o’s ha’e the thistle’s poo’er
To see we’re worthless and believe ’t?
A’thing that ony man can be’s
A mockery o’ his soul at last.