180 38 room. 
Oh the Broom, the bonny bonny Broom, 
The Broom of the Cowden-knowes ; 
For sure so soft, so sweet a bloom, 
Elsewhere there never grows. 
Scottish Song. 
Here is a precious jewel I have found 
Among the filth and rubbish of the world. 
I’ll stoop for it, but when I wear it here, 
Set on my forehead like the morning-star, 
The world may wonder, but it will not laugh. 
Longfellow. 
Their groves of sweet myrtle, let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright beaming summers exalt the perfume; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, 
Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow Broom. 
Burns. 
But the publican stood afar off in his grief, 
For he felt like a beggar who needed relief; 
And he raised not his eyes, and he saw not the scorn 
Which the lip of the Pharisee proudly had worn. 
But he smote on his bosom, and deeply he sighed; 
As a sinner, for mercy, sweet mercy, he cried. 
It was all he could utter, but God hears a sigh, 
And listens, no matter how feeble the cry. 
Both unheard and unblest, the proud Pharisee then 
Returned to the pomp of his riches again; 
While the publican sinner, though loathed and oppressed, 
Went joyfully homeward with peace in his breast. 
MacKellar. 
