O Scotia! My Dear, My Native Soil!

But To See Her Was To Love Her, Love But Her, And Love Forever.

But Mousie, Thou Art No Thy Lane In Proving Foresight May Be Vain The Best-laid Schemes O' Mice An' Men Gang Aft Agley An' Lea'e Us Nought But Grief An' Pain For Promis'd Joy!

The Fear O' Hell's A Hangman's Whip To Haud The Wretch In Order; But Where Ye Feel Your Honour Grip, Let That Aye Be Your Border.

Now Simmer Blinks On Flowery Braes, And O'er The Chrystal Streamlets Plays; Come Let Us Spend The Lightsome Days In The Birks Of Aberfeldy.

The Honest Man, Though E'er Sae Poor, Is King O' Men, For A' That!