I heard the village bells proclaim That glorious deeds were done; I heard wi' joy the gladsome shout, "The field, the field is won!" And I thought my lad, wi' glory crown'd, Might come to me again; But vain the thought! cold, cold he lies On Alma's gory plain.
Oh! woe to him whose thirst for power Has roll'd the bolts of war, And made my laddie bleed and die Frae hame and friends afar. Alas! his form I ne'er shall see, Except in fancy's dream; For low he lies, where brave he fought, By Alma's bloody stream.
Oh! say not life is ever drear, For midst its scenes of toil and care There 's aye some joy the heart to cheer-- There 's aye some spot that 's green and fair. To gain that spot the aim be ours, For nocht we 'll get unless we try; And when misfortune round us lours, We 'll jouk and let the jaw gae by.
The wee bit flow'ret in the glen Maun bend beneath the surly blast; The birdie seeks some leafy den, And shelters till the storm is past: The "owrie sheep," when winds blaw snell, To some lowne spot for refuge hie; And sae, frae ills we canna quell, We 'll jouk and let the jaw gae by.
Yet there are ills we a' should brave-- The ills that man on man would throw; For oh! he 's but a thowless slave, That patient bears Oppression's woe. But if 'tis but the taunts of pride, Of envy's tongue that would annoy, 'Tis nobler far to turn aside, And jouk and let the jaw gae by.
In worldly gear we may be bare, We may hae mony a dreary hour; But never, never nurse despair, For ilka ane maun taste the sour: Even kings themsels, wi' a' their power, Wi' a' their pomp and honours high, 'Neath adverse blasts are forced to cower, And jouk to let the jaw gae by.
But mark this truth--the ills that blight Are aft the fruits that folly brings; Then shun the wrong, pursue the right-- Frae this the truest pleasure springs; And fret not though dark clouds should spread At times across life's troubled sky; Sweet sunshine will the gloom succeed-- Sae jouk and let the jaw gae by.
Hurrah! hurrah! we 've glory won, And brighter blazes freedom's sun; But daring deeds must yet be done To curb Oppression's reign, boys. Like wintry clouds in masses roll'd, Our foes are thick'ning on the wold; Then up! then up! be firm--be bold-- Victorious be again, boys.