The Book of Scottish Song/To my auld Wife

To my auld Wife.

[Tune, "Gloomy Winter."]

Our youthfu' days are lang awa',
Past and gane our prime an' a',
And the leafs begun to fa'
Wi' you an' me, my dearie, O!

Spring it does not last for aye,
Summer quickly fleets away,
Syne the flowers do a' decay,
An' sae maun we, my dearie, O!

For we baitb are wearin' auld,
You'r growin' grey, an' I am bauld,
Comin' fast is winter cauld
O' life, to us, my dearie, O!

Twa score o' years ha'e near hand fled,
Sin' we twa thegither wed,
Our share o' joys an' waes we've had,
My auld, my faithfu' dearie, O!

Contented on through life let's pass,
Cure ne'er maks a sorrow less,
Still ye are my ain dear lass,
My auld, my faithfu' dearie, O!

Ne'er let you or me complain,
Friends o' yours and mine are gane,
Wha the married life began,
Wi' you an' me, my dearie, O!

Whilst we twa aye spared ha'e been,
Till our bairnie's bairns we've seen,
Wha some day wi' divets green
May see us hap'd, my dearie, O!

Time on wing mak's nae delay,
Fast approaching is the day,
When they doun us baith will lay
In the cauld grave, my dearie, O!

When we meet that dreaded hour,
May death's sting ha'e tint its power,
Syne we'll flit to blissfu' bower
To joys that ne'er shall wearie, O!

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