The Power incensed the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But, haply, in some cottage, far apart,
Will hear, well pleased, the language of the soul,
And in his book of life the inmate poor enrol.
“A child of the common people himself, Burns never deserted his class. He taught the poor man that:
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.
“He ennobled honest labour:
The honest man, though e’er sae puir,