Books by Robert Burns

Quotes by Robert Burns
Beauty's of a fading nature
Has a season and is gone!
Suspense is worse than disappointment.
An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended.
But, oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early.
The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley;
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.
The social, friendly, honest man,
Whate'er he be,
'Tis he fulfills great Nature's plan,
And none but he!
Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human.
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surprised them all.
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn.
Man was made to Mourn.
Some books are lies frae end to end.
If naebody care for me,
I'll care for naebody.
It's hardly in a body's pow'r,
To keep, at times, frae being sour.
For a' that and a' that,
It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man the world o'er
Shall brothers be for a' that.
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.
This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again.
An' there began a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' auld lang syne?
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Misled by fancy's meteor ray,
By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray
Was light from heaven.
On ev'ry hand it will allowed be,
He's just-nae better than he should be.
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing:
But, och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad.
The heart benevolent and kind
The most resembles God.
She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a lo'esome wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
He wales a portion with judicious care;
And "Let us worship God" he says, with solemn air.
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies.
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.
Stern Ruin's plowshare drives elate,
Full on thy bloom.
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede you tent it;
A chield's aman you takin' notes,
And faith he'll prent it.
'''For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne!'''
His locked, lettered, braw brass collar
Showed him the gentleman an' scholar.
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow-
Let us do or die!
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
For a' that an a' that.
O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wished, the trysted hour.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union.
Robert Burns's Biography
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