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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!

Poem by Robert Burns
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