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Tommy Beavitt
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Scottish Literary Society
Scottish Literary Society
We raise our cups in glad carouse
To the joy of youthful days,
We lift our cups as one and souse
Our circle of comrades.
We recollect the years, forsooth,
The house abune the stream,
Elixir of perpetual youth
That now seems but a dream.
And whereupon the Saltire cross
Above shone white and blue,
We cared not what confronted us
And every man was true.
We put our chattels in a pile
Laid out among the heather
And as we sailed out from the kyle
We sang a song together.
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When in far foreign lands we'd roam
To the unknown we were given,
But in our dreams, the hills of home;
While ships from us were riven.
And let it not be said we stole
The wealth of distant nations.
But rather that our common goal
Was a better world's foundations.
For our part, then, we'll tend the shrine,
While angels guide our power:
To that, while we're not lacking wine,
We'll drink a toast this hour!
For auld lang syne – my dear! For auld lang syne! For comradeship, we'll tak a nip – For auld lang syne.
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