To Marykirk ye'll set ye forth,
An’ whustle as ye step alang,
An’ aye the Grampians i’ the North
Are glow'rin’ on ye as ye gang.
By Martin's Den, through beech an’ birk,
A breith comes soughin’, sweet an’ strang,
Alang the road to Marykirk.
Frae mony a field ye'll hear the cry
O’ teuchits,skirlin’ on the wing,
Noo East, noo West, amang the kye,
An smell o’ whins the wind‘ ll bring;
Aye, lad, it blaws a thocht to mock
The licht o’ day on ilka thing —
For you, that went yon road last spring,
Are lying deid in Flanders, Jock.