A Child of Scotland ©

When fierce winds growl o'er mountain and moor,
When stags roar through a Highland glen,
When pipes blow softly in that glen,
I hear the sounds of Scotland.

When young soldiers lie in hero's graves,
And our Nation mourns their sad loss,
When sons die bravely for the cause,
I see the blood of Scotland.

When our mothers guide their children's way,
And our teachers stretch their young minds,
When our youth proudly repay in kind,
I feel the pulse of Scotland.

When our authors write of deeds gone by,
And our composers pen great songs,
When leaders justly right old wrongs,
I sense the pride of Scotland.

When I travel far to other lands,
As an observer of their way,
My heart beats proudly when I say,
"I am a child of Scotland!"