Oh, days lang forgotten, why rise ye again,
When all your remembrance brings sorrow and pain?
When she wha's fair picture was 'graved in your heart,
Appears shrunk an' faded, nae ferlie ye start.

When he wha has taught ye, a bairn at the school,
Wha's wise pow aye made ye a poor donner't fool,
Comes seekin' your aid, wi' his head hingin' low,
Oh, sair is the shock, ay, an' hard is the blow.

The white-headed elder, whom lang syne ye mind,
Was aye to your puir widowed mother sae kind,
When stricken wi' poortith, an' laden wi' years,
Ye help him, ye bless him, ye gie him your tears.

The wee cockin' bailie ye liket sae weel,
Wha aye was sae mensefu' wi' maut an' wi' meal,
When fastin' has come, and when feastin's awa,
Ye mourn for his fate, an' ye feel for his fa'.

Yon mansion sae hoary, ye mind a laird's ha',
Now lane an' deserted, is crumbling awa';
Ye think on the days the auld biggin' has seen,
An' thoughts o' the past bring the tears to your een.

Thus Time shows us a' what maun soon come to pass,
We're backward to keek in his truth-telling glass;
New buds may sprout out frae the auld hoary tree,
But e'en the young buds soon maun wither an' dee.

Yet, though your frail body maun mingle wi' clay,
Sweet virtue bears flowers that can never decay;
An' oh! gin ye've grafted ae bud on her tree,
You'll see your ain flower blooming brightly on hie.