THE COVENANT BANNER
By An Ayrshire Elder
Blow softly, ye breezes, by mountain and moor,
O'er the graves of the Covenant men,
By the muirland and flood that were red with their blood,
Can ye waft the old watchwords again?
For Scotland and Christ the breezes of old
O'er the wilds of the Westland bore,
From the Lugar and Nith to the Lothian Frith,
And the German Ocean's shore.
And where'er they blew, a prayer was breathed
And a holy psalm was sung,
And hands were clasped and the banner grasped,
When the Covenant watchword rung.
O, the brave true hearts of old,
That bled when the banner perished!
O, for the Faith that was strong in death--
The Faith that our fathers cherished!
The banner might fall, but the spirit lived,
And liveth for evermore,
And Scotland claims as her noblest names,
The Covenant Men of Yore.