The Lightly-jumping, Glowrin' Trouts, That

Oh Would Some Power The Gift Give Us, To See Ourselves As Others See Us!

O Scotia! My Dear, My Native Soil! For Whom My Warmest Wish To Heaven Is Sent

They Never Sought In Vain That Sought The Lord Alright!

At Length His Lonely Cot Appears In View, Beneath The Shelter Of An Aged Tree; Th' Expectant Wee-things, Toddling, Stacher Thro' To Meet Their Dad, Wi' Flichterin Noise An' Glee.

I Waive The Quantum O' The Sin, The Hazard Of Concealing; But, Och! It Hardens A' Within, And Petrifies The Feeling!