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To Burns.
By W. M. MacKeracher
Suggested on returning home for my holidays by an old portrait of the poet, which hangs in my room.
Old friend! - I always loved thee;
In childhood's early days,
Delighted I would listen
With laughter to thy lays.
And better still I loved thee,
To riper boyhood grown;
Because thou wert the pride of
The land that's part my own.
But with devotion deepened
I greet thee now anew,
Of love, because thou singest
So simple, sweet, and true.
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