't Is Sweeter For Thee Despairing Than

O Scotia! My Dear, My Native Soil! For Whom My Warmest Wish To Heaven Is Sent

The Rank Is But The Guinea's Stamp, The Man's The Gowd For A' That.

My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose That's Newly Sprung In June: My Love Is Like The Melody That's Sweetly Played In Tune. How Fair Art Thou, My Bonnie Lass, So Deep In Love Am I; And I Will Love Thee Still, My Dear, Till All The Seas Gang Dry. Till All The Seas Gang Dry, My Dear, And The Rocks Melt With The Sun; I Will Love Thee Still, My Dear, While The Sands Of Life Shall Run. And Fare Thee Weel, My Only Love. And Fare Thee Weel Awhile! And I Will Come Again, My Love, Though It Were Ten Thousand Mile.

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot, And Never Brought To Min?

But Deep This Truth Impressed My Mind — Thro' All His Works Abroad, The Heart Benevolent And Kind The Most Resembles God.