Oh! love it is a blessed thing, And to the heart doth comfort bring; But the fond throb that for a brother A sister feels, excels all other, Save only that by parents known: Sweet maid, a pure affection cheers Thy gentle heart, and still endears Thy very smile and tone.
No cares upon those brows of light, Round which the tresses cluster bright, Like mossy flowers 'mong sunshine blended, Have yet, with envious trace, descended: But all is happiness and mirth,-- Ye look like cherubs sent from Heaven, With hope, and joy, and beauty given, To cheer this weary earth.
FAITHFUL to God, 'mid persecutions dire, The lion-hearts of old still firmly stood, Unawed by terrors of the block or fire, For truth and freedom freely gave their blood; The path of duty lay before them plain, And boldly they advanced, nor turned again.
A throne cast down, erected was once more, An exiled king, a nation, welcomed back; Planted in blood it was, and tears, and gore, Its only props the scaffold and the rack; And there the brave and good did nobly fall, That Christ the Saviour might be all in all,
Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate, A victim to oppression's cruel laws, Nor would, for proudest prelate's form and state, A traitor turn to his dear Master's cause; With him no joy on earth so great could be, As thus to die for Christ's supremacy.
On the lone mountains of their native land, Where blooms the heather fragrantly and fair, In the green valleys waved by breezes bland, Struck mercilessly down while met in prayer, Lie Scotland's martyrs in their nameless moulds, Sustained by Him who the great worlds upholds. (8)
CALEDONIA, my country! How bright is the fame, Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name; When thy children remember their fathers' renown, Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?
In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight, Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right; By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven, The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.
In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel, Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell; And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around, Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.