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 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!
The Masters Apron
Ther’s mony a badge that’s unco braw ;
Wi ribbon, lace and tape on ;
Let kings an’ princes wear them a’ ,
Gie me the masters apron!
The honest craftsman’s apron,
The jolly freemason’s apron,
Be he at hame or roam afar,
Before his touch fa’s bolt and bar,
The gates of fortune fly ajar,
Gin he but wears the apron!
For wealth and honour, pride and power
Are crumbling stanes to base on;
Fraternity suld rule the hour,
And ilka worthy mason!
Each free accepted mason,
Each ancient crafted mason!
Then brithers let a halesome sang