Whoe'er he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he's come to wait upon
The Lord their God, his Grace.
There's naething here but Highland pride
And Highland cauld and hunger;
If Providence has sent me here,
T'was surely in his anger.
Written At Inverary.
Robert Burns
(1)
Poem topics: anger, god, pride, wait, hunger, providence, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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