Such Is The Fate Of Simple Bard,

The Rank Is But The Guinea's Stamp, The Man's The Gowd For A' That.

A Mind That Is Conscious Of Its Integrity Scorns To Say More Than It Means To Perform.

All-cheering Plenty, With Her Flowing Horn, Led Yellow Autumn, Wreath'd With Nodding Corn.

But Deep This Truth Impressed My Mind — Thro' All His Works Abroad, The Heart Benevolent And Kind The Most Resembles God.

At Length His Lonely Cot Appears In View, Beneath The Shelter Of An Aged Tree; Th' Expectant Wee-things, Toddling, Stacher Thro' To Meet Their Dad, Wi' Flichterin Noise An' Glee.