The moon has rowed her in a cloud,
Stravagin wins begin
To shuggle and daud the windo-brods,
Like loons that would be in!
Gae whistle a tune in the lum-head,
Or craik in saughen tree!
We're thankfu for a cozie hame -
Sae gree, my bairnies, gree!

Tho gurglin blasts may dourly blaw,
A rousin fire will thow
A straggler's taes, and keep fu cosh
My tousie taps-o-tow.
O wha would cool your kail, my bairns,
Or bake your bread like me,
Ye'd get the bit frae out my mouth,
Sae gree, my bairnies, gree!