My Ain Countree

Mary Lee Demarest (1838–1888)

“But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly.”—HEBREWS xi. 16.

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.

The earth is flecked wi’ flowers, mony-tinted, fresh, an’ gay,

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.

I ’ve his gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King

To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring:

Wi’ een an’ wi’ hearts runnin’ owre, we shall see

The King in his beauty in our ain countree.

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,

When he brings me hame at last, to my ain countree.

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.

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.

So I ’m watching aye, an’ singin’ o’ my hame as I wait,

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.