Once death come you'll see it strack
With pain and not a thyrse,
You'll see its drab and ghastly lack
And thorns instead of furs.
No demon grand the night assail,
No claws in sleep to loom,
With naught a whimper, nor a wail
Shall turn thy body toom.
The shining sun as morn will raise
May find ye cold and lain,
And leave ye be to rot for dayes
With thine heart torn in twain.
You until then to live should ache,
Thine youth laid still unshorn,
Life still has its share to take,
Thou will have so much to mourn.
Sae tread the ways that you see fit
And struggle to and through,
That no man dare throw ev'n a spit
Where you have left thy sheugh.
Let not life bring you to the knee,
Nor death set thy passion laigh,
For death may take forever thee
But cannae take thy lay.