There is a star whose beaming ray
Is shed on ev’ry clime,
It shines by night, it shines by day
And ne’er grows dim wi’ time.
It rose upon the banks of Ayr,
It shone on Doon’s clear stream –
A hundred years are gane and mair,
Yet brighter grows its beam.
Let kings and courtiers rise and fa’,
This world has mony turns
But brightly beams aboon them a’
The star o’ Rabbie Burns.
Though he was but a ploughman lad
And wore the hodden grey,
Auld Scotland’s sweetest bard was bred
Aneath a roof o’ strae.
To sweep the strings o’ Scotia’s lyre,
It needs nae classic lore;
It’s mither wit an native fire
That warms the bosom’s core.
On fame’s emblazon’d page enshrin’d
His name is foremost now,
And many a costly wreath’s been twin’d
To grace his honest brow.
And Scotland’s heart expands wi’ joy
Whene’er the day returns
That gave the world its peasant boy
Immortal Rabbie Burns.