Poem by Robert Burns

Epitaph on a Celebrated Ruling Elder

Here souter Hood in Death does sleep;
         To Hell, if he’s gone thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
         He’ll haud it weel thegither.

1. Their Groves O’ sweet Myrtle
2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Gala Water
5. Stay My Charmer

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