But Facts Are Chiels That Winna Ding,

The Lightly-jumping, Glowrin' Trouts, That Thro' My Waters Play.

My Dear, My Native Soil! For Whom My Warmest Wish To Heav'n Is Sent, Long May Thy Hardy Sons Of Rustic Toil Be Blest With Health, And Peace, And Sweet Content!

Even Thou Who Mournst The Daisy's Fate, That Fate Is Thine--no Distant Date; Stern Ruin's Ploughshare Drives, Elate, Full On Thy Bloom, Till Crushed Beneath The Furrow's Weight Shall Be Thy Doom!

The Best-laid Plans Of Mice And Men Often Go Awry.

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot And Never Brought To Mind? Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot And Days Of Auld Lang Syne? For Auld Lang Syne, My Dear, For Auld Lang Syne, We'll Take A Cup Of Kindness Yet, For Auld Lang Syne.