Poem by Robert Burns

Ye Sons of Old Killie. A Masonic Song

YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
  To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
  To sit in that honoured station.
I’ve little to say, but only to pray,
  As praying’s the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from, the Muse you well may excuse,
  ‘Tis seldom her favourite passion.

Ye powers who preside o’er the wind and the tide,
  Who marked each element’s border;
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
  Whose sovereign statute is order;
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention
  Or withered envy ne’er enter;
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
  And brotherly love be the centre!

1. Fairest Maid on Devon Banks
2. The Highland Lassie
3. Weary Fa’ You, Duncan Gray
4. Farewell to Ballochmyle
5. Lines Written under the Picture of Miss Burns

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