MOTHER of the Land,

Around thy throne the hearts of England stand

Waiting thy will. And since thou art our Queen,

And since thy life has moved in lovely ways,

The granite loyalty of Aberdeen

Greets thee with love and reverence and praise;

And boasts that these great battlements of stone

Are buttresses and bulwarks of thy throne,

For thou art wise, and they are Wisdom's fort;

And thou art true, and they are Truth's domain;

And thou art kind, and they are Healing's Court,

Where Love and Pity reign:

Thou art the symbol of all things we seek, too lofty to attain.

Welcome, thrice welcome to our granite town,

Thou who hast made the burden of a crown

Burn like a halo, kindle like a star--

Welcome, thrice Welcome! In the days afar

The Queen who joined the Thistle and the Rose,

Making firm friends of foes,

And Mary Queen of Scots, and Her of Guise

Rode down these streets, under admiring eyes,

But never Queen so fair and loved as thou

Who comest to join in our rejoicings now.

"Welcome, thrice welcome, Queen most fair and kind!

Welcome, thrice welcome!" sighs the autumn wind.

"Welcome, thrice welcome!" chants the Northern Sea.

And both come singing from thy home to thee--

We are one in sea and wind as one in heart,

And thou at once our Queen and kindred art;

Welcome, thrice welcome to our Aberdeen!

Welcome, beloved Queen!