This is the last night o' this year, lads,
Let come in the next whate'er may;
He that's eydent and honest can welcome
The morning o' ilk New-year's-day.

'Tis only the knave needs be gloomy,
When thinking on what he has done;
But we blythely will sing in the morning,
And dance by the light o' the moon.

There's muckle in this world to grieve us---
I doutna we've a' had our share---
But to warsle an' win is a pleasure,
And what can a mortal do mair?

The mile-stanes o' life, as we journey,
Are lang weary twalmonths atween;
Let us rest an' look back, an' mak' merry,
When we meet wi' an honest auld frien'.

Then, Johnnie,* come fill us a jorum,
And Gib he will sing us a sang,
That will keep frien'ship warm in our bosoms
To anither mile-stane, as we gang.

*Mr. John Watson and Mr. Gilbert Watson, Parkhead.