Oh , come and listen to my sang,
Nae matter wha ye be,
For there's a human sympathy
That sings to you and me;
For, as some kindly soul has said,
All underneath the starns,
Despite o' country, clime, or creed,
Are a' John Tamson's bairns.

The higher that we clim' the tree,
Mair sweert are we to fa',
And spite o' fortune's heights and houghs,
Death equal-equals a';
And a' the great and mighty anes,
Wha slumber 'neath the cairns,
They ne'er forgot, tho' e'er so great,
We're a' John Tamson's bairns.

Earth's heroes spring frae high and low,
There's beauty in ilk place,
There's nae monopoly o' worth
Among the human race;
And genius ne'er was o' a class,
But, like the moon and starns,
She sheds her kindly smile alike
On a' John Tamson's bairns.

There's nae monopoly o' pride—
For a' wi' Adam fell—
I've seen a joskin sae transform'd
He scarcely kent himsel';
The langer that the wise man lives,
The mair he sees an' learns,
And aye the deeper care he takes
Owre a' John Tamson's bairns.

There's some distinction, ne'er a doubt,
'Tween Jock and Maister John,
And yet its maistly in the dress,
When ev'rything is known;
Where'er ye meet him, rich or poor,
The man o' sense and harns,
By moral worth he measures a'
Puir auld John Tamson's bairns.

There's ne'er been country yet, nor kin,
But has some feeble flaw,
Yet he's the likest God abune
Wha loves them ane and a';
And after a' that's come and gane,
What human heart but yearns
To meet at last in light and love
Wi' a' John Tamson's bairns.