Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume IV. The Higher Life. 1904. | | | | VII. Death: Immortality: Heaven | | My Ain Countree | | Mary Lee Demarest (1838–1888) |
| | | | “But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly.”—HEBREWS xi. 16. |
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I ’M far frae my hame, an’ I ’m weary aftenwhiles, | |
| For the langed-for hame-bringing, an’ my Father’s welcome smiles; | |
| I ’ll never be fu’ content, until mine een do see | |
| The shining gates o’ heaven an’ my ain countree. | |
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| The earth is flecked wi’ flowers, mony-tinted, fresh, an’ gay, | 5 |
| The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae; | |
| But these sights an’ these soun’s will as naething be to me, | |
| When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree. | |
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| I ’ve his gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King | |
| To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring: | 10 |
| Wi’ een an’ wi’ hearts runnin’ owre, we shall see | |
| The King in his beauty in our ain countree. | |
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| My sins hae been mony, an’ my sorrows hae been sair, | |
| But there they ’ll never vex me, nor be remembered mair; | |
| His bluid has made me white, his hand shall dry mine e’e, | 15 |
| When he brings me hame at last, to my ain countree. | |
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| Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, | |
| I wad fain be ganging noo, unto my Saviour’s breast; | |
| For he gathers in his bosom, witless, worthless lambs like me, | |
| And carries them himse’ to his ain countree. | 20 |
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| He ’s faithfu’ that hath promised, he ’ll surely come again, | |
| He ’ll keep his tryst wi’ me, at what hour I dinna ken; | |
| But he bids me still to wait, an’ ready aye to be, | |
| To gang at ony moment to my ain countree. | |
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| So I ’m watching aye, an’ singin’ o’ my hame as I wait, | 25 |
| For the soun’ing o’ his footfa’ this side the shining gate; | |
| God gie his grace to ilk ane wha listens noo to me, | |
| That we a’ may gang in gladness to our ain countree. | | | |
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