This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
My heather land, my heather land!
My dearest prayer be thine,
Although upon thy hapless heath
There breathes nae friend of mine.
The lanely few that heaven has spared,
Fend on a foreign strand;
And I maun wait to weep wi' thee,
My hameless heather land.
My heather land, my heather land!
Though fairer lands there be—
Thy gowanie braes in early days
Were gowden ways to me.
Maun life's poor boon gae dark'ning doun,
Nor die whaur it had dawn'd,
But claught a grave ayont the wave,—
Alas, my heather land!
My heather land, my heather land!
Though chilling winter pours
Her freezing breath round fireless hearth,
Whaur breadless misery cowers!
Yet breaks the light that soon shall blight
The godless reivin' hand—
Whaun wither'd tyranny shall reel
Frae our roused heather land.