Robert Burns

And there begins a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.

And there begins a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.

My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy read more

My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony,
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither--
They had been fou for read more

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony,
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither--
They had been fou for weeks thegither!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent;
Long read more

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent;
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content.

Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as ithers see us!
It wad read more

Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
And foolish notion.