THE rime lies cauld on ferm an' fauld, The lift's a drumlie grey; The hill-taps a' are white wi' snaw, An' dull an' dour's the day. The canny sheep thegither creep, The govin' cattle glower; The plooman staunds to chap his haunds An' wuss the storm were ower. But ance the snaw's begoud to fa' The cauld's no' near sae sair: 'Neth stingin' drift oor herts we lift The winter's warst to dare. Wi' frost an' cauld we battle bauld, Nor fear a passin' fa', But warstle up wi' warmer grup O' life, an' hope, an' a' . An' sae, my frien ' , when to oor een Oor warldly ills appear In prospect mair than we can bear, An outlook cauld an' drear; Let's bear in mind-an' this, ye'll find, Has heartened not a few When ance we're in the battle's din We'll find we're half gate thro' . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA by MIRABEAU BONAPARTE LAMAR CALIBAN IN THE COAL MINES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER HUMAN FLIES by KATHARINE ADAMS COMMUNION by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH ECSTACY by KENNETH SLADE ALLING A MEMORY by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |