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Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly in their hearts with Grace divine preside.
For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly in their hearts with Grace divine preside.
From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad:
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
'An honest man's the noblest work of God'[1].
And certes, in fair Virtue's heav nly road,
The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind:
What is a lordship's pomp? a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of Hell, is wickedness refin'd!
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad:
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
'An honest man's the noblest work of God'[1].
And certes, in fair Virtue's heav nly road,
The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind:
What is a lordship's pomp? a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of Hell, is wickedness refin'd!
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warniest wish to Heav'n is sent!
Long may thy hardy sons, of rustic toil,
Be blest with health, and pace, and sweet content!
And, O may Heav'n their simple lives prevent
From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle.
For whom my warniest wish to Heav'n is sent!
Long may thy hardy sons, of rustic toil,
Be blest with health, and pace, and sweet content!
And, O may Heav'n their simple lives prevent
From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle.
O 'Thou who pour'd the patriotic tide,
That stree'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart,
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part!
The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and rewardǃ
O never, never Scotia's realm desert,
But still the Patriot and the patriot-Bard,
In bright succession rise, her Ornament and Guards
That stree'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart,
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part!
The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and rewardǃ
O never, never Scotia's realm desert,
But still the Patriot and the patriot-Bard,
In bright succession rise, her Ornament and Guards
