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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!

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
Sweet
Sons
Health
Toil
Peace
Sent
Warmest
Wish
Native
Heav
May
Soil
Rustic
Country
Content
Blest
Long
Son
Hardy
Dear
Scotland

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To make three guineas do the work of five.
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Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.
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Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.
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When matters are desperate we must put on a desperate face.
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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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Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme / My barmie noddle's working prime.
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They never sought in vain that sought the Lord alright!
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Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din For me, an aim I never fash I rhyme for fun.
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Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
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God knows, I'm not the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be, But twenty times I rather would be An atheist clean, Than under gospel colours hid be Just for a screen.
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I pick my favourite quotations and store them in my mind as ready armour, offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence.
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Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.
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Now's the day and now's the hour.
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What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools If honest nature made you fools.
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But deep this truth impressed my mind — Thro' all his works abroad, The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God.
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