Life is but a day at most.
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!
Oh my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June; Oh my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune.
Should auld acquaintances be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o'auld lang syne?
Let us do or die.
