Wake up mither
Wake up mother
Fae yer ain sweet rest
From your own rest
Nae Abbey walls remain
Nor an English king camped on hame soil
Awwhaur a weirder dawn in yon warld exists
Everywhere a dawn in this strange world
In the angels’ spheres
In ony tung
In the heavens
Angels speak in every language
Fer the common man, the weest bairn.
Slaughter is whit I felt
Mony in places A ken not
Many in places I don’t know
Dee yet-in thoosands o thoosands
Die yet in their thousands
But here oor sma nation micht be agin
But our small nation might be again
Peerless in tenacity, douce in its humility
Peerless in tenacity, quiet in its humility.
Mither did A dae guid?
Did A mak it tae yer hert?
Mother did I do good?
Did I make it to your heart?