Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/106
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
88
MY AIN COUNTRIE.
Oh, tell me if this hallowed hour
Still finds thee constant at our shrine;
Still witnesses thy fervent prayer
Ascending warm and true with mine!
Faithful through every change of woe,
My heart still flies to meet thee there;
'Twould soothe this weary heart to know
That thine responded every prayer.
Still finds thee constant at our shrine;
Still witnesses thy fervent prayer
Ascending warm and true with mine!
Faithful through every change of woe,
My heart still flies to meet thee there;
'Twould soothe this weary heart to know
That thine responded every prayer.
"My Ain Countrie."
From "The Sword and Trowel."Inserted by Permission.
"I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles
For the langed-for hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles;
I'll ne'er be fu' content until my e'en do see
The gowden gates o' heaven, and my ain countrie.
For the langed-for hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles;
I'll ne'er be fu' content until my e'en do see
The gowden gates o' heaven, and my ain countrie.
The earth is flecked wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an' gay,
The birdies warble blithely, for my father made them sae;
But these sights an' these Bonn's will as naething be to me
When I hear the angels singing in my ain countrie.
The birdies warble blithely, for my father made them sae;
But these sights an' these Bonn's will as naething be to me
When I hear the angels singing in my ain countrie.
I've his gude word o' promise that, some gladsome day, the King,
To his ain royal palace, His banished hame will bring;
Wi' e'en an' wi' hearts running owre we shall see
'The King in His beauty,' an' our ain countrie.
To his ain royal palace, His banished hame will bring;
Wi' e'en an' wi' hearts running owre we shall see
'The King in His beauty,' an' our ain countrie.
My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,
But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair;
His bluid hath made me white, His hand shall wipe mine e'e,
When He brings me hame at last to my ain countrie.
But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair;
His bluid hath made me white, His hand shall wipe mine e'e,
When He brings me hame at last to my ain countrie.
Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast,
For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An' carries them Himsel' to His ain countrie.
I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast,
For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An' carries them Himsel' to His ain countrie.
He's faithfu' that hath promised—He'll surely come again—
He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken,
But He bids me still to watch an' ready aye to be
To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.
He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken,
But He bids me still to watch an' ready aye to be
To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.