Simmer an' winter, nicht an' day,
Rab was aye wi' ye;

An' a' the folk on a' the way
Were blithe to see ye.

O sir, the gods are kind indeed,
An' hauld ye for an honoured heid,
That for a wee bit clarkit screed
Sae weel reward ye,

An' lend - puir Rabbie bein' deid -
His ghaist to guard ye.

For though, whaure'er yoursel' may be,
We've just to turn an' glisk a wee,
An' Rab at heel we're shüre to see
Wi' gladsome caper:

The bogle of a bogle, he -
A ghaist o' paper!

And as the auld-farrand hero sees
In Hell a bogle Hercules,

Pit there the lessen deid to please,
While he himsel'

Dwalls wi' the muckle gods at ease
Far raised frae hell:

Sae the true Rabbie far has gane
On kindlier business o' his ain

Wi' aulder frien's; an' his breist-bane

An’stumpie tailie

He birstles at a new hearth stane
By James and Ailie.

T'S an owercome sooth for age an' youth

IT'S

And it brooks wi' nae denial,

That the dearest friends are the auldest friends

And the young are just on trial.

There's a rival bauld wi' young an' auld
And it's him that has bereft me;

For the surest friends are the auldest friends
And the maist o' mines hae left me.

There are kind hearts still, for friends to fill And fools to take and break them;

But the nearest friends are the auldest friends

And the grave's the place to seek them.