There be stanes an’ tones
frae this braw land
that compose honest hope
in our aging hearts.
Frae distant hills an’ glens
we longing sing
the echoing sangs o’ auld
that nane may forget
how crews o’ shattered ghaists
sailed lonely caravels
ower the cauld an’ angry main
seeking warmth an’ chance.
Yet frae aneath the weight
o’ solemn centuries
still we maste emphatic cry
that this is our hame.
Alba gu bràth!

[Perhaps I should explain a bit, just in case the language seems unclear:
stanes = stones
frae = from
braw = fine
sangs = songs
auld = old
nane = none
ghaists = ghosts
ower = over
cauld = cold
main = the open sea
aneath = beneath, under
maste = most
hame = home
Alba gu bràth. = Scotland forever. [literally, Scotland until the Judgement.]