Classic Poem

Is there a luckless wight on earth,
Oppressed wi' care and a' that,
Who holds his life as little worth,
His home is Heaven for a' that —
For a' that, and a' that,
There's muckle joy for a' that;
He's seen the warst o' hell below,
His home is Heaven for a' that.

The weary slave that drags his chain,
In toil and grief, and a' that,
Shall find relief from a' his pain,
And rest in Heaven from a' that.
From a' that and a' that.
There's freedom there from a' that,
For Justice throws into the scale
A recompense for a' that.

Puir souls, in right not unco strong,
Through love and want and a' that,
There sure is power to right their wrong,
And save their souls, for a' that —
For a' that, and a' that.
The Lord is guid for a' that;
The de'il himsel' can turn and mend,
And come to Heaven for a' that.

On Scotia's hills the gowans spring,
The heather blooms, and a' that;
The mavis and the merle sing,
But Heaven's my home for a' that —
For a' that, and a' that.
I wadna' change for a' that.
He who once finds the Heaven aboon
Will not come back for a' that.