Robin Burns

By Gerald Massey (1828–1907)

(Robert Burns was born, Jan. 25, 1759.)

A HUNDRED years ago this morn,

He came to walk our human way;

And we would change the Crown of Thorn

For healing leaves To-day.

But we can only hang our wreath

Upon the cold white marble’s brow;

Tho’ loud we speak, or low we breathe

We cannot reach him now.

He loved us all! he loved so much!

His heart of love the world could hold;

And now the whole wide world, with such

A love, would round him fold.

’Tis long and late before it wakes

So kindly,—yet a true world still;

It hath a heart so large, it takes

A Century to fill.

*****

And near or far, where Britons band

To-day, the leal and true heart turns

More fondly to the fatherland,

For love of Robin Burns.