This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
The moon has row'd her in a cloud,
Stravagin' wuns begin
To shoggle and shake the window brods,
Like loons that wad be in.
Gae whistle a tune in the lum-head,
Or craik in saughen tree;
We're thankfu' for a cozie hame,
Sae gree, bairnies, gree.
Though gurlin' wuns may blaely blaw;
Our roustn' fire will thow
The straggler's taes,—and keep fu' cosh
My tousie taps-o'-tow.
O, wha wad cule your kale, my bairns,
Or bake your bread like me,
Ye'd get the bit frae out my mouth,
Sae gree, bairnies, gree.
O, never fling the warmsome boon
O' bairnhood's love awa';
Mind how ye sleepit cheek to cheek,
Atween me and the wa',
How ae kind arm was owre ye baith—
But, if ye disagree,
Think on the kindly sowth'rin' soun',
O, gree, bairnies, gree.