Page:Wreath of song, or, Favourite airs for the lovers of music.pdf/8

 8 Ay, that's what sets up the hale warld in a lowe-- Makes kingdoms to rise an' expire'; Man's might is nae mair than a flaughten o' tow, Opposed to a bleeze o' reid fire! 'Twas woman at first made creation to bend, And of nature's primo lord made the pillow! An' is her that will bring this ill warld to an end- An' that will be seen an' hoard tell 'e !

DRAW THE SWORD, SCOTLAND, Draw the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Over mountain and moor hath passed the war-sign: The pibreeh is pealing, pealing, pealing, who heeds not the summons is nae son o' thine. The clans they are gath ring by loch and by lea ; The banners they are flying, flying, flying, The banners they are flying that lead to victory, Draw the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland ! Charge as yoeve charged in the days o langsyne ; Sound to the onset, the onset, the onset, He who but falters is nae son o' thine. Sheath the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Sheath the sword, Scotland, for dimmed is its shim Thy foemen are fleeing, fleeing, fleeing, And wha kens nae mercy is nae son o' thine ! The struggle is over, over, over, The struggle is over !-the victory won !- There are tears for the fallen, the fallen, the fallen, And glory for all who their duty have done! I