Wi' health, we'll persevere,
An' try to find a brighter track—
We'll conquer, niver fear!
An may God shield thee wi' his wing,
Along life's stormy way,
An' keep thi heart as free throo sin,
As what it is to-day.
Th' Little Black Hand.
Ther's a spark just o'th tip o' mi pen,
An' it may be poetical fire;