Large was his heart, and deep and strong
The human love within it;
As free and musical its song
As wood-notes of the linnet.

No touch of art more fresh and clear
The warbling tones could render;
No paean make his name more dear,
His, memory more tender.

He sought not with impatient feet
The path to glory's portal;
And yet his simple words and sweet
Are fame-lit and immortal.

His 'Highland Mary' still shall haunt
The dells by burn and river,
And ' Bonnie Doon ' as sweetly chant
Love's melody for ever.

The mountain daisy and the song
His plough upturned together,
Shall blossom in the heart as long
As blooms his native heather.