BY J. BERTRAM EVELINE.
Oh, well I ken from written word
That Rab Burns loved a song;
And well I ken from olden tales
That he never loved o'er long.
But we do meet and sing his songs,
And shake leal friendship's hand,
And love each other true and well,
A stalwart Scottish band.
And tell old tales of Scotland dear,
And new tales now and then,
And some hae gifts o' music dear,
And some a ready pen,
And some a rousing, cheery air,
Guld comrades these, and men,
Not every one a native Scot,
But brothers all, ye'll ken.
So here's to the far flung glory
Of the grand old Scottish hills,
And the beat of the pibroch's sounding,
And the music of her rills,
And here's to the comrades loyal,
Who know neither guile nor hate;
May we meet on the great To-morrow,
With Rab Burns at the Outer Gate.
Troy Times. April 22, 1920: 16 col 1.