Our own Robbie Burns

              Dear Scotia tho' far from they heath covered hills,
Thy glens widely winding thy musical rills,
Thy highlands where nature looks grand from her throne,
Thy lowlands that Beauty has claim'd for her own.
We see thee again every feature returns,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
We see thee again every feature returns,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.

Though we tread with affection fair liberty's earth,
How deeply we love thee thou land of our birth;
Dear land of our birth shall we cease to retain
Our fondness' no! never while life shall remain,
Bur warmer each bosom with tenderness yearns,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
Bur warmer each bosom with tenderness yearns,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.

Oh, Burns! Robbie Burns haughty man on thee frowned,
Yet thy brow by man's Maker sublimely was crowned;
Though rank gave no gauds and keen poverty stung,
How noble how lofty the strains from thy tongue;
Enraptured each bosom false dignity spurns,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
Enraptured each bosom false dignity spurns,
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.
As we sing the sweet songs of our own ROBBIE BURNS.