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 lark 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' loyaltie's begun for to fa', The bonnie 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!

The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save; The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave: But the sun thro' the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e, ‘I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.’ Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

Cunningham.