Whatever mitigates the woes
or increases the happiness of others -
this is my criterian of goodness
And whatever injures society at large,
or any individual in it -
this is my measure of iniquity
For thus the royal mandate ran,
When first the human race began;
The social, friendly, honest man,
Whate'er he be
'Tis he fulfills great Nature's plan
And none but he.

 

Welcome to the online home
of the
Winnipeg Robert Burns Club

 
The Winnipeg Robert Burns Club congratulates two of its members on their election to the board of RBANA at the recent conference in Dallas Ft-Worth.

Colin Harris RBANA President
Janet Thompson Canadian Director
Wee , modest crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I
maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou
bonie gem.

Alas! it's
no thy neibor sweet,
The
bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy
weet ,
Wi' spreckl'd breast!
When
upward-springing , blythe, to greet
The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble
birth ;
Yet cheerfully thou
glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,
High shelt'ring woods and
wa's maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O' clod or stane ,
Adorns the
histie stibble field,
Unseen,
alane .

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou
lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;

But now the share uptears thy bed,
And
low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!

By love's simplicity betray'd,
And guileless trust;

Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering
worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,

By human pride or cunning driv'n
To mis'ry's brink;

Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,
He, ruin'd, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine --
no distant date;
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate,
Full on thy bloom,

Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!

 

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