The Ingle-Side

It ’s rare to see the morning bleeze
Like a bonfire frae the sea,
It ’s fair to see the burnie kiss
The lip o’ the flow’ry lea;
An’ fine it is on green hillside,
Where hums the bonnie bee,
But rarer, fairer, finer far
Is the Ingle-side for me.

Glens may be gilt wi’ gowans rare,
The birds may fill the tree;
And haughs hae a’ the scented ware
That simmer-growth can gie:
But the canty hearth where cronies meet,
An’ the darling o’ our e’e,
That makes to us a warl’ complete:
O, the Ingle-side for me!