A Sinful Heart Makes Feeble

Silence, Maiden; Thy Tongue Outruns Thy Discretion.

My Hope, My Heaven, My Trust Must Be, My Gentle Guide, In Following Thee.

Where Is The Coward That Would Not Dare To Fight For Such A Land As Scotland?

Wounds Sustained For The Sake Of Conscience Carry Their Own Balsam With The Blow.

For Monarchs Seldom Sigh In Vain.