 | Our Holiday Among The Hills |  |
That selfsame miracle does yet appear:
We see it i' the spring o' every year,
When whin an' bonnier broom are fairly bloom'd,
An', wavin', burn the same an' unconsum'd
—But unregardit o' baith man an' woman,
Quite unregardit, for the sicht's sae common!
They see't a' gate—alangs' the public way,
In gowden beauty bleezin', bleezin' aye,
Till every hill-tap, craig, an' spritty knowe
Owre Scotland braid like flamin' altars lowe!
Yet wha draws near wi' reverential feet?
Or is there ane that worships but to see't?
Nae thocht is theirs that God's within the buss,
Or that the grund is holy brightened thus!
We see it i' the spring o' every year,
When whin an' bonnier broom are fairly bloom'd,
An', wavin', burn the same an' unconsum'd
—But unregardit o' baith man an' woman,
Quite unregardit, for the sicht's sae common!
They see't a' gate—alangs' the public way,
In gowden beauty bleezin', bleezin' aye,
Till every hill-tap, craig, an' spritty knowe
Owre Scotland braid like flamin' altars lowe!
Yet wha draws near wi' reverential feet?
Or is there ane that worships but to see't?
Nae thocht is theirs that God's within the buss,
Or that the grund is holy brightened thus!
| Our Holiday Among The Hills | |