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.
Ive little to say, but only to pray,
As prayings the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from thee Muse you well may excuse
Tis seldom her favourite passion.
Ye powers who preside oer the wind, and the tide,
Who markèd each elements border;
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order:
Within this dear mansion, may wayward Contention
Or witherèd Envy neer enter;
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
And brotherly Love be the centre!