  Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree, The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countrie; Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! The green leaf o' loyalty's begun for to fa', The bonny white rose it is withering an' a'; But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie, An' green it will grow in my ain countrie. Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, O hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie! O there's naught frae ruin my country can save, But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave, That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie, May rise again and fight for their ain countrie. Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save, The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave; But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe in my e'e, 'I'll shine on ye yet in yer ain countrie.' Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie. |
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