Classic Poem

The times are hard, an' fortune shy,
Has lang been ilka grummler's story,
But work aye on, an' aim aye high,
The harder work — the greater glory.
The honest mind, the sterling man,
The chains o' poortith canna fetter,
So strive, and do the best ye can,
And tak my word ye'll sune be better.

Although ye toil for little gear,
Though whiles your labour may be slichted,
The darkest sky is sure to clear,
An' virtue's wrangs will aye be richted.
Ne'er deem yoursel' an ill-used man,
Nor ca' the world a heartless debtor,
But strive, and do the best ye can,
An' tak my word ye'll sune be better.

O sweet is freedom's caller air,
An' sweet is bread o' ane's ain winning!
To work an' win be aye your care,
Great things hae aft a sma' beginning.
Let nought e'er ding ye frae your plan,
Stick to your creed in ilka letter,
Aye strive and do the best ye can,
An' tak my word ye'll sune be better.