Sweet flow’ret, pledge o’ meiklelove,
And ward o’ mony a prayer,
What heart o’ stanewadthou namove,
Saehelpless, sweet, and fair?

November hirples o’er the lea,
Chil, on thy lovely form:
And gane, alas! the shelt’ring tree,
Should shield thee frae the storm.

May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw,
Protect thee fraethe driving show’r,
The bitter frost and snaw.

May He, the friend o’Woe and Want,
Who heals life’s various stounds,
Protect and guard the mother plant,
And healher cruel wounds.

Butlate she flourish’d, rooted fast,
Fair in the summer morn,
Now feebly bends she in the blast,
Unshelter’d and forlorn.

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unscath’d byruffian hand!
And from thee many a parent stem
Arise to deck our land!