My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
Ye Hypocrites, are these your pranks To murder men and gie God thanks Desist for shame, proceed no further God won't accept your thanks for murder.
Why has a religious turn of mind always a tendency to narrow and harden the heart?
Great for good, or great for evil.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.