O Life! Thou Art A Galling Load,

Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread: You Seize The Flow'r, Its Bloom Is Shed.

It's Hardly In A Body's Pow'r,to Keep, At Times, Frae Being Sour.

My Heart 's In The Highlands, My Heart Is Not Here; My Heart 's In The Highlands A-chasing The Deer.

Now A' Is Done That Men Can Do, And A' Is Done In Vain.

To Make A Happy Fireside Clime To Weans And Wife, That's The True Pathos And Sublime Of Human Life.