Fu' mony o' the leal An' the true hae "gane west" Tae reap their reward an' Their nobly won rest. Their mem'ry wi' laurels, Bricht laurels, we'll croon, Tho' sair be oor herts in The Auld Burgh Toon. MENNOCK BURN. _Tune: "Kirkconnell Lea."_ When mist nae langer hides the lift, An' rain cluds flee afore the sun, Wi' staff in han' I slowly gang Tae muse on thee, sweet Mennock Burn. REFRAIN. Sweet Mennock Burn that springs sae clear Frae oot the Lowther Hills sae hie, The happy days I'll ever min' That I in youth hae spent by thee. Dear Mennock Burn, what memories cling Aroun' thy bonnie wuds an' braes; Near thee the Muirlan' Bard was born, That sang sae sweetly in thy praise. REFRAIN. Those happy days are langsyne gane, An' I am wearin' on in life, My pleesures a' lie in the past, There's naething noo but care an' strife. REFRAIN. When Nature fails an' I maun bend, An' fade like ony witherin' tree, Beside ye gin I hae my wish, I fain wad streik me doon an' dee. REFRAIN. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. SCUNNER'T. _TAE THE WORKERS._ _At the result of the South Lanark Elections, 1913 and 1918._ Some look on this life wi' a smile, While ithers look on't wi' a froon, Some are up in this warl', While some in this warl' are doon. We're tauld that contentment is gain, A virtue we ocht tae acquire, But the worker is nae worth the name Wha wadna tae better aspire. Some thoosans in mansions are rich, Hae mair than they ever can need, While millions are leevin' in slums, An' lackin' their daily breid. It's a terrible state o' affairs; Will ye no mak' an effort tae mend it? Will ye stan' wi' the pooer in yer han' An' no strike a blow that wad end it? Dinna tell me ye hae'na the pooer, An' likewise ye hae'na the pence; It's as easy tae prove ye've the pooer, As it is that ye hae'na the sense. A change is required in oor laws, An wha dae ye ettle tae mak' it? Not the privileged class, wha hae ruled ye sae lang, Though that is the class ye've aye backit. Yer leaders are guid as they're true, Still ye cater tae prejudice hoary, Tho' yer conscience maun cry ye are wrang, Ye vote for a Whig or a Tory. It's aneuch tae mak' angels weep, An' reformers turn in the grave When the workers gang beckin' an' booin', An' playin' the fool an' the knave. Noo yer guid auld Pioneer's[1] gane; Ne'er will his memory sink; If ye've ony respect for his name Try an' be able tae think. Guid-bye the noo, I houp ye will men', But railly it's no tae be wunner't That freens wha hae yer interests at hert Canna' but sometimes be scunner't. [1] Keir Hardie. TO AN ABSENT FRIEND. Dear cronie, we are met the nicht Tae drink yer health for auld langsyne; Wi' social crack and canty sang We fain wad a' oor sorrows tyne.