Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftain o' the Puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o' a grace As lang's my arm. O' Great Chieftain, honoured still, Keeper o' the Highland will, While the trenchers groan wi' cheer — Scotland's hope is gathered here. Round this table, heart in hand, Bound by sang across our land, Long may every blessing be Shared in verse and company. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see Rustic-labour dight, An' cut ye up wi' ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! O' Great Chieftain, honoured still, Keeper o' the Highland will, While the trenchers groan wi' cheer — Scotland's hope is gathered here. Round this table, heart in hand, Bound by sang across our land, Long may every blessing be Shared in verse and harmony. Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, Gie her a Haggis! O' Great Chieftain, honoured still, Keeper o' the Highland will, While the trenchers groan wi' cheer — Scotland's hope is gathered here. Round this table, heart in hand, Bound by sang across our land, Long may every blessing be Shared in verse and company. Raise the pipes and let them sing, Dance 'til the morning bells ring. While the heather crowns the hill, Lives the ancient spirit still. Great Chieftain, honoured be, Guardian of our memory. Long may every blessing be, Shared in love and harmony.
