"Like a' the Campbells, ye'll hae your way— Your mither has hers every day.
"'Tis prood ye should be, upon my word, Tak' time to yoursel' and thank the Lord
For plans that gat ye a bonny bride— An' heaps o' wardly gear beside."
Ah! thankful enough was Neil that day— Joy flashed in his eager eyes of gray.
'Twas not for the land, not for the gold, Not for the flocks that slept in fold,
Not for the wealth—the worldly gear— But something wonderful, sweet and dear.
"Thank heaven," he cried, with a glow and thrill, "Thank heaven for the day I rode to mill!"