(Owre a’ abies itsel’
As fer as we can tell,
Sin’ frae the Eden o’ the world
Ilka man in turn is hurled,
And ilka gairden rins to waste
That was ever to his taste?)
O keep the Thistle ’yont the wa’
Owre which your skeletons you’ll thraw.
I, in the Thistle’s land,
As you[13] in Russia where