C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Land o’ the Leal

I’M wearin’ awa’, John,

Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John;

I’m wearin’ awa’

To the land o’ the leal.

There’s nae sorrow there, John,

There’s neither cauld nor care, John,

The day is aye fair

In the land o’ the leal.

Our bonnie bairn’s there, John;

She was baith gude and fair, John,

And oh! we grudged her sair

To the land o’ the leal.

But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, John,

And joy’s a-comin’ fast, John,—

The joy that’s aye to last

In the land o’ the leal.

Sae dear that joy was bought, John,

Sae free the battle fought, John,

That sinfu’ man e’er brought

To the land o’ the leal.

Oh! dry your glist’ning e’e, John:

My saul langs to be free, John,

And angels beckon me

To the land o’ the leal.

Oh! haud ye leal and true, John:

Your day it’s wearin’ thro’, John,

And I’ll welcome you

To the land o’ the leal.

Now fare ye weel, my ain John:

This warld’s cares are vain, John;

We’ll meet, and we’ll be fain,

In the land o’ the leal.