Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.
Without courage there cannot be truth, and without truth there can be no other virtue.
Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.