Hame, hame, hame

Hame! hame! hame! O hame fain wad I be!

O, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree,

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie.

Hame, hame, hame! O hame fain wad I be!

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa';

The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';

But we'll water't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,

And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie!

Hame, hame, hame! O hame fain wad I be

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

O there's nocht now frae ruin my countrie can save,

But the keys o' kind heaven, to open the grave,

That a' the noble martyrs, who died for loyaltie,

May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.

Hame, hame, hame! O hame fain wad I be!

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The great now are gane, wha attempted to save;

The green grass is growing abune their graves;

Yet the sun through the mirk seems to promise to me

I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie.

Hame, hame, hame! hame fain wad I be!

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!