Mind ye yon aik that grew at our house-end,
By ilka pawky bird an' bairnie kenned;
The rustic seat deep-shaded 'neath its boughs,
Whaur auld folk crackit, — young folk whisper'd vows,
An' the wee Robin happit crouse an' tame,
For weel wee Robie lo'ed our couthy hame?

An' mind ye o' the ancient cot itsel',
Whaur sweet contentment aye was wont to dwell,
Whaur the big peat stack an' the craft o' bier
Tauld that in winter simmer beakit here?
Whae'er gaed by the door was sair to blame,
For a' wha cam in fand a couthy hame.

An' mind ye o' my mither's winsome face,
Sae fu' o' sweetness, an' sae fu' o' grace?
My faither too, though bent wi' years an' toil,
Wha's furrowed face wore aye contentment's smile.
Sae fond a husband, an' sae kind a dame,
Nae ferlie love an' kindness filled our hame.

Sax strappin' maidens, mensefu', modest, fair,
Wi' sax strang chields, were born an' reared up there,
Folks wont to ferlie how ae but an' ben
Could rear sic lasses, an' could train sic men.
Nor aught was done to raise ae blush of shame
By only nurtured in our humble hame.

Amid the Sabbath evening's sacred calm,
How sweetly rose to Heaven, the prayer an' psalm,
And aye in love and knowledge sae we grew,
As gaur'd us aft these solemn rites renew,
And made us daily bless His holy name,
Wha wi' His presence fill'd our humble hame.

Alace! that ancient aik's uprooted now,
Ower the auld cottage speeds the ridging plough;
And whaur sic hames as ours were wont to be,
Lone bleating sheep are browsing ower the lea;
Wae's me, that man should daur the right to claim,
To mak a sheep-gang o' a human hame!