Sir Walter Scott

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

He sins not, who is not wilfully a sinner.

He sins not, who is not wilfully a sinner.

O, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!

O, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!

Let ease and rest at times be given to the weary.

Let ease and rest at times be given to the weary.

We do that in our zeal our calmer moment would be afraid to
answer.

We do that in our zeal our calmer moment would be afraid to
answer.