My Father’s Tartan
Wrap around thee, my love, the plaid of my fathers,
Woven for roving the moors and the heather,
Who sleep beneath stones in their coarse native wool,
For they died in time’s arms of a love like mine,
And drained love’s glass till their hearts were full,
For they had no grapes for wine.
Wrap around thee, my love, the deep blue of the sky,
That our mothers brought down from the heavens most high,
To dye the soft cloth I place on your shoulder,
The colour of Mary, the Mother of God,
And you shall be lovely to every beholder,
As long as your feet touch sod.
Wrap around thee, my love, the white stripe of the plaid,
To honour the Virgin, the Most Holy Maid,
And the green of the forest, the colour of hope,
To strive evermore our Creator to please,
And find our way home, though we wander and grope,
Amid the foreboding trees.
And the royal red stripe, wrap around thee, my love,
Wear it always upon you, my sweet bonnie dove,
The colour of Him who was sent with His crown,
On the Cross for to bleed, to end the dark night,
That the sins of all flesh nor more hold us down
At the coming of the light.
© Joseph Charles MacKenzie. All Rights Reserved.