The gallant lads of yore, They sang with hearts so bold; And the misty hills of home Are the tales of old retold.

With flowers strewn at every door, And the skies so clear above, It’s nature’s hand, like balm, That fills the heart with love.

Through the valleys and the hills, With laughter rich and free; The song shall echo through the years, Of all that’s dear to me.

• Robert Burns