Classic Poem

This is the natal day of him
Who, born in want and poverty,
Burst from his fetters, and arose
The freest of the free;—

Arose to tell the watching earth
What lowly men could feel and do,—
To show that mighty, heaven-like souls
In cottage hamlets grew.

Burns! thou hast given us a name
To shield us from the taunts of scorn;—
The plant that creeps amid the soil
A glorious flower hath borne.

Before the proudest of the earth
We stand with an uplifted brow;
Like us, THOU wast a toil-worn man,
And we are noble now!

Inspired by thee, the lowly hind
All soul-degrading meanness spurns;
Our teacher, savior, saint art thou,
Immortal R OBERT Burns !