My brithers an' my sisters hae a' taen their flicht, An' they're far frae the bield whaur they first saw the licht; But I'm shair that in longin' their thochts aften turn Tae the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn. Noo I'm gettin' auld an' doited an' I'm wearin' awa' Tae the land whaur there's nae pain nor sorrow ava', An' lanesome I'm waitin' till the Maister says, Come, Frae the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn. THE AULD GREY GLEN. _WANLOCK._ Sixty years hae gane an' mair, an' yet I mind fu' weel, When I was but a laddie jist ready for the schule, The bonnie strappin' lassies an' the brawny stalwart men Reared amang the heather in the Auld Grey Glen. Each hame was warm in winter an' cool 'neath simmer sun, Built against the hillside wi' routh o' lime an' whun; Nae drawin'-room or parlour but jist a but an' ben, Weel theekit ower wi' heather in the Auld Grey Glen. Tae meet wi' yin anither we cheerily wad gang, An' be happy a' thegither wi' a guid auld sang; Tho' puir we helped ilk ither an' wad borrow an' wad len', 'Twas a rale communal system in the Auld Grey Glen. The lads when gaun a-coortin' in guid hamespun were dressed, Wi' braw Balmoral bonnets, a heidgear o' the best; Nae hats wi' gaudy feathers had Mary, Mag, or Jen-- They were cuddled 'neath a plaidie in the Auld Grey Glen. Tho' customs, fashions a' hae changed the spirit's still the same, An' we're ready aye tae play oor pairts for country an' for hame, Oor dearest, bravest laddies we wullingly did sen' Tae fecht for love and honour an' the Auld Grey Glen. LEVEL NO. 6. _Song._ _Tune, "Bound to be a Row."_ Come a' ye jolly miners an' listen tae ma sang, An' then in pity drap a tear as doon the vale ye gang, For a puir unlucky chappie wha's been in mony a fix, An' is noo a powny driver doon in Level No. 6. CHORUS. In Level No. 6--in Level No. 6. Yer sorrows are nae far tae seek, In Level No. 6. There are twa pownies in the mine, a braw an' bonnie pair, An' physically fit are they tae dae their wark an' mair; But Dandy wi' his funeral step, an' Bobbie wi his tricks, Mak' the driver's life a burden doon in Level No. 6. CHORUS. An' then the ruif is far owre low, wi' the hinger hingin' doon, Yer needin' stickin' plaister aye, for the dressin' o' yer croon; Sometimes ye think ye've got it, frae a hunerwecht o' bricks-- Job's patience wadna' stan' the test in Level No. 6. CHORUS. Whiles when ye think ye're daein' weel, an' a sang begin tae croon, It's then ye hear the gaffer's plaint--"Is this a' ye hae dune?" If ye dinna get the ha'pence, ye're shair tae get the kicks Frae the gaffers or the pownies doon in Level No. 6. CHORUS.