My Dear, Be A Good Man Be

The Heart-sick Faintness Of The Hope Delayed!

Where Is The Coward That Would Not Dare To Fight For Such A Land As Scotland?

Hard Toil Can Roughen Form And Face, And Want Call Quench The Eye's Bright Grace.

If You Once Turn On Your Side After The Hour At Which You Ought To Rise, It Is All Over. Bolt Up At Once.

Loud O'er My Head Though Awful Thunders Roll, And Vivid Lightnings Flash From Pole To Pole, Yet 'tis Thy Voice, My God, That Bids Them Fly, Thy Arm Directs Those Lightnings Through The Sky. Then Let The Good Thy Mighty Name Revere, And Hardened Sinners Thy Just Vengeance Fear.