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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.

Robert Burns

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Robert Burns
Age: 37 †
Born: 1759
Born: January 25
Died: 1796
Died: July 21
Farmer
Musicologist
Poet
Songwriter
Writer
Robbie Burns
Rabbie Burns
Scotland's favourite son
Ploughman Poet
Robden of Solway Firth
Bard of Ayrshire
The Bard
Robert Burns
Fall
Horn
Horns
Flowing
Corn
Cheer
Wreath
Autumn
Wreaths
Yellow
Nodding
Plenty
Cheering

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While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
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An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended!
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There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.
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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
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Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays.
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My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
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The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature But still the preaching cant forbear, And ev'n the rigid feature: Yet ne'er with wits profane to range Be complaisance extendedAn atheist laugh's a poor exchange For deity offended.
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Affliction's sons are brothers in distress A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
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My heart is sair-I dare na tell, My heart is sair for Somebody.
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Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.
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When Nature her great masterpiece designed,And framed her last, best work, the human mind,Her eye intent on all the wondrous plan,She formed of various stuff the various Man.
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For thus the royal mandate ran, When first the human race began, The social, friendly honest man, Whate'er he be, Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, And none but he!
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Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now 's the day and now 's the hour See the front o' battle lour.
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Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
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Good Lord, what is man! for as simple he looks, Do but try to develop his books and his crooks, With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the devil.
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Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.
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Nature's law, That man was made to mourn. Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! O Death, the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best!
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Some books are lies frae end to end.
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Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.
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Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear.
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