Scotia's sons to-night we meet thee,
With kindly feelings we do greet thee,
In honor of the land of heather,
Around this board to-night we gather.

Land where the fields for border edges,
Have garlands of blooming hedges,
Land of the whin and of the broom
And where the bonnie blue bells bloom.

Land where you may enraptured hark
To heavenly song of the skylark,
Which soars triumphant in the skies
Above the gaze of human eyes.

Land of bleak hills and fertile dales,
Where they tell oft their fairy tales,
Land where the folks do love the kirk
And on the Sabbath cease from work.

Land of porridge and of brose,
Of blue bonnets and of tartan hose,
The land where all good wives do bake
The thrifty, wholesome, oaten cake.

We hope some day to tread the strand
Of our own dear native land,
And o'er the sea we'll some day sail
To get a bowl of good green kail.