Ahint the Wheel o’ ony Face,
There’ll be a glory in the place,
And we may aiblins swing content
Upon the wheel in which we’re pent
In adequate enlightenment.
Nae ither thocht can mitigate
The horror o’ the endless Fate
A’thing ’s whirled in predestinate.
O whiles I’d fain be blin’ to it,
As men wha through the ages sit,