Though the doom of swift decay Shocks the soul where life is strong, Though for frailer hearts the day Lingers sad and overlong-- Still the weight will find a leaven, Still the spoiler's hand is slow, While the future has its heaven, And the past its Long-ago. THE SANDS OF DEE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY 'Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee.' The western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she. 'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-- A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea?' Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes of Dee. They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea. But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee. THREE FISHERS Three fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west, as the sun went down, Each thought of the woman who loved him best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbour-bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour-bar be moaning. Three corpses lie out on the shining sands, In the morning gleam, as the tide goes down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands, For those who will never come home to the town. For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. AULD LANG SYNE ROBERT BURNS For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne! Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pou'd the gowans fine, But we've wander'd mony a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn Frae morning sun till dine, But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o' thine, And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught For auld lang syne.