The End

Just lift me to the winnock, lass,
An’ lay me canny doon;
I’d like to see the sun again
Set fair owre field an’ toon.
I’m gaun awa’ to leave them a’,
On a journey lane an’ lang;
But Death has ca’ed fu’ kindly,
An’ I’m no’ that sweer to gang. 

It’s jist like fa’in’ asleep, lass,
An’ a’ my trauchle deen,
To rest my tired bit hannies,
An’ steek my weary een;
To never thole the ruggin’ hert,
The tchave, the fech, the din,
To never hear the bairnies greet
For bread I canna win. 

It’s jist like waukenin’ up, lass,
An’ the mornin’ brakin’ fine
On the lang, lane glints o’ heather,
In a glen I kent lang syne;
Wi’ the laverock singin’ bonnie
In a lift that’s lown an’ blue,
An’ faither waitin’ at the yet,
Sayin’ ‘Jeanie, this is you.’