140. Masonic Song—Ye Sons of Old Killie

 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 thee Muse you well may excuse
 ’Tis seldom her favourite passion.



Ye powers who preside o’er the wind, and the tide,
 Who markèd each element’s border;
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
 Whose sovereign statute is order:—
Within this dear mansion, may wayward Contention
 Or witherèd Envy ne’er enter;
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
 And brotherly Love be the centre!

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