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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THIS AGE OF HARD TRYING, NONCHALANCE IS GOOD AND by MARIANNE MOORE SONGS OF TRAVEL: 45. TO S.R. CROCKETT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SINCE THOU ART GONE by HENRY VAUGHAN I HEARD YOUR SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES by WALT WHITMAN ON BEING ASKED FOR A WAR POEM by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 8 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |