HURRAH! for the moors all aglow with the heather, So bright with the dew at the break of the day, Hurrah! for the mountains, the glorious mountains, The streams, and the glens, and the lochs of Strathspey. Hurrah! for the forests, the birch and pine forests, Which shelter the deer from the sun's fiercest ray -- Vast temples of Nature, so peaceful and solemn, That cover the hills and the dells of Strathspey. 'Twas a red-letter day when to Lainchoil I wander'd, And mountain and moor wore their brightest array; But brighter the friendship that gave me warm welcome To a home of leal hearts and kind hands in Strathspey. O blest be that home on the braes of the Nethy In the glints of the morn, or when gloaming falls grey; I'll waft it a blessing where'er I may wander, And cherish fond memories of it and Strathspey. God bless the dear mother who sits by the fireside, Tho' her ninety-eighth summer has now pass'd away! May her sunset of life gently melt into glory Like the calm after-glow on the hills of Strathspey. And blest be the daughter who lives for her mother, With the warmest devotion that love can display; A ministering angel to cheer the old pilgrim, Till the end of her journey be reach'd in Strathspey. O Thou who temp'rest the wind to the shorn lamb, A guide to the blind, to the feeble a stay, Let the stroke that will sunder fall lightly on lov'd ones, When the shadow shall rest on their home in Strathspey! May the Saviour who wept where Lazarus was buried, Set His bow in the cloud, and their sorrow allay! When the old arm-chair by the fireside is vacant, And the face long familiar has gone from Strathspey. |