John Anderson my Jo/The Land of the Leal

by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

THE LAND OF THE LEAL.

I’M wearing awa, Jean,
Like snaw when its thaw, Jean;
I’m wearing awa, Jean,
To the land o’ the leal.
There’s nae sorrow there, Jean,
There’s nae cauld nor care, Jean;
The day is aye fair, Jean,
In the land o’ the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task’s ended now, Jean,
And I’ll welcome you, Jean,
To the land o’ the leal.
Our bonny bairn’s there, Jean,
She was baith gude and fair, Jean,
And we grudg’d her right sair, Jean,
To the land o’ the leal.

Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And Angels wait on me, Jean,
To the land o’ the leal.
But sorrow’s sell wears past, Jean,
And joy’s coming fast, Jean,
The joy that’s aye to last, Jean,
In the land o’ the leal.

Our friends are a’ gane, Jean,
We’ve long been left alane, Jean;
We’ll a’ meet again, Jean,
In the land o’ the leal.

Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld’s care is vain, Jean,
We’ll meet and aye be fain, Jean,
In the land o’ the leal.