That rose on wooded Craigie-burn,
And sank on crystal Devon.
I matched with Scotland’s heathery hills
The sweetbrier and the clover;
With Ayr and Doon, my native rills,
Their wood hymns chanting over.
O’er rank and pomp, as he had seen,
I saw the Man uprising;
No longer common or unclean,
The child of God’s baptizing!