O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I.

The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my Dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary

To make a happy fire-side clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life

What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses O

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.

There is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to me so unaccountable as that thing called conscience.