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THE THISTLE OF SCOTLAND.
On sunny slope, on lonely moor,
Her emblem Flower is there!
See! where it rears its haughty head—
True Scot that ne'er will yield—
The Thistle! with its ruby crown,
Stands monarch of the field.
It spreads those warlike arms about,
To guard the land from spoil;
What foeman's foot e'er rested long
On Caledonia's soil!
The banners of the Northern race
Oft waved above its spears,
When Border shout and pibroch note
Bang in the Southron ears.
O! Sons of Scotland! love it well,
Your sires its virtues knew;
Be like your Thistle to the end,
As staunch, as leal and true!
