The flower that yields nae fragrant scent,
May bloom and please the ee;
The maid wha has nae feeling heart
May fair and gentle be:
But fragrance maks the rose mair prized
Than flowers o' brightest hue;
And, oh! how pure the maiden's blush
Wha's heart is kind and true!

The dew that gems the budding rose,
May nurse the deadly slae;
The heart that kindly beats for a',
May feel the deeper wae:
But soon the rose repays the dew,
Enriching a' the air;
And mercy is rewarded by
The mourner's grateful prayer.

Without the dew the fragrant flower
Could ne'er sic fragrance yield;
And whaur wad sorrow shelter but
Ahint sweet mercy's shield?
Without the genial southern breeze,
How bleak the southland lee;
Without kind hearts and true ones,
What a desert earth wad be!