The Paths Of Virtue, Though Seldom Those

A Few Drops Sprinkled On The Torch Of Love Make The Flame Blaze The Brighter.

My Hope, My Heaven, My Trust Must Be, My Gentle Guide, In Following Thee.

Like The Dew On The Mountain, Like The Foam On The River, Like The Bubble On The Fountain, Thou Art Gone, And For Ever!

Ridicule, The Weapon Of All Others Most Feared By Enthusiasts Of Every Description, And Which From Its Predominance Over Such Minds, Often Checks What Is Absurd, And Fully As Often Smothers That Which Is Noble.

Come Fill Up My Cup, Come Fill Up My Can, Come Saddle Your Horses, And Call Up Your Men; Come Open The West Port, And Let Me Gang Free, And It's Room For The Bonnets Of Bonny Dundee!