Hail Land Of My Fathers - Cnoc An Tursa

Hail, land of my fathers!

I stand on thy shore

'Neath the broad-fronted bluffs of thy granite once more

Old Scotland, my mother, the rugged, the bare

That reared me with breath of the strong mountain air

No more shall I roam where soft indolence lies

'Neath the cloudless repose of the featureless skies

But where the white mist sweeps the red-furrowed scaur

I will fight with the storm and grow strong by th war!

What boots all the blaze of the sky and th billow

Where manhood must rot on inglorious pillow?

'Tis the blossom that blooms from the taint of the grave

'Tis the glitter that gildeth the bonds of the slave

But Scotland, stern mother, for struggle and toil

Thou trainest thy children on hard, rocky soil

And thy stiff-purposed heroes go conquering forth

With the strength that is bred by the blasts of the north

Hail Scotland, my mother!

And welcome the day

When again I shall brush the bright dew from the brae

And, light as a bird, give my foot to the heather

My hand to my staff, and my face to the weather

Then climb to the peak where the ptarmigan flies

Or stand by the linn where the salmon will rise

And vow never more with blind venture to roam

From the strong land that bore me, my own Scottish home