Classic Poem

From the land of purple heather,
From the dear and distant North,
Scotland casts our lot together;
Bonnie Scotland sends us forth
To the City by the Tiber,
To the shade of Peter's dome,
To bear the bright tradition back
Of everlasting Rome.

Chorus

Here's a hand and faith behind it,
Here's my love till death shall part;
Give me yours and I shall bind it
With the dearest in my heart.

So land and kin forsaking
For Scotland's faith grown cold,
For her valiant spirit aching
With the wound they wrought of old:
In faith and heart united all
In happy exile one,
That Scotland's wrong be righted
So that Scotland's work be done.

Chorus

We foot the fervent traces
Of those that went before,
Adorned with gifts and graces
From our Alma Mater's store;
To sing the Careful Mother
For a tribute to her worth,
For to find so good another
We might journey all the earth.

Chorus

For aye the gaps supplying
She drafts her sturdy bands,
To keep her colours flying
In the best of bonnie lands:
The men she taught to cherish
All she knows or ever knew;
The hope that cannot perish
Romans all and Scotsmen true.

Chorus

The rowan-tree stands all alone, *
Though it has foliage in excess.
I, friendless and alone, roam on.
And are there then no other men?
But of my father's kindred — never one!
O all you farers through the city,
Why is not one of you my kin?
I am the man without a brother
Oh, why? O one of you, have pity!

The rowan-tree stands all alone,
Though drooping with its weight of leaves.
But loveless I go desolate.
And are there then no other men?
None of my kindred, of my father's line.
O all you farers through the city,
Why is not one of you my kin?
I am the man without a brother,
Oh, why? O one of you, have pity.