The Thistle


I love the thistle with its ruddy flowers
It cheers me on the waste in lonely hours
It cheers me in lone sunshine out of doors
When seeking solitude on rushy moores
It cheers me resting on the way-side stones
Where tears of morning glitter on the thorns
I love the thistle 'tis an ill used flower
And bees are singing round for many an hour.


I love the thistle and its prickles too
Cobwebs are round it with a veil of dew
I love the thistle where it bravely stands
For rights of Liberty in many lands
Simply defying every rogueish eye
With " wha dare meddle wi me" that passes bye
My right is simple, blooming 'mong the flowers
That God's hand scatters on this land of ours.


So I love the thistles spread round Scottish bowers
Better than any other of the wildling flowers
I love the warrior thistle where it stands
Though often wounded in the legs and hands
On Bannockburn its bloom undaunted stood
Dy'd deeper in the streams of human blood.
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