But yet, O Lord! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust: An' sometimes too in warldly trust, Vile self gets in; But Thou remembers we a… - Robert Burns

While we sit bousin, at the nappy,
And gettin fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God" he says, with solemn air.

From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God."