Lodge St. John Stoneyburn 1186 
Rabbie Burns

Without doubt, Scotland's most famous freemason was the country's national Bard, Brother Robert Burns Burns was born in1759 and died at the early age of just 37 in 1796, but few outside the craft are aware that many of his poems were based on, or revolved around freemasonry. On July 4th 1781, at the age of 23, Robert Burns was initiated as an Entered Apprentice into lodge St David Tarbolton 174, just a week after the amalgamation of Lodge St David Tarbolton 174 and Lodge St James Tarbolton 178. On October 1st 1781, Brother Robert Burns was passed as a Fellow of the Craft and then raised as a Master Mason. Lodge St David Tarbolton eventually closed and was replaced by Lodge St James (Kilwinning) Tarbolton 135. On July 27th 1784, Brother Robert Burns was elected as Depute Master of St James (Kilwinning) Tarbolton, which at that time met in the Cross Keys public house, a position he held for four years. Many of the lodge records, in the Bard's own handwriting, still exist, and Brother Robert Burns was a frequent visitor to lodges in Irvine, Dumfries and Edinburgh over the ensuing years. In the museum in the Grand Lodge of Scotland, hangs a very large painting (see below) by Brother Stewart Watson which depicts Brother Robert Burns being inaugurated as Poet Laureate of Lodge Canongate Kilwinning in Edinburgh on March 1st 1787. Every one of the 61 people in the picture have been identified, but the fact is, not all of them were alive when the picture was painted, but all were members of the lodge.

Burns Poetry 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 Arise your friendly ranks alang . Guid wives and bairnies blithely sing To the ancient badge wi' the apron string That is worn by the master mason! Click to enlarge

Click to enlarge

Address to the Haggis FAIR fa' your honest sonsie1. face, Great chieftain o' the puddin' race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe or thairm:2. Weel are ye worthy of a grace,  As lang's my arm . The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin*. would help to mend a mill, In time o' need, While through your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic labour dight,3. And cut you up wi' ready slight. Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like ony ditch ; And then, oh what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin',4. rich! Then, horn for horn they stretch and strive. Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a' their weel-swalled kytes belyve†. Are bent like drums ; Then auld guidmen, maist like to rive,5. Bethankit hums. Is there that owere his French ragoût, Or olio that wad staw a sow,6. Or fricasse wad mak her spew7. Wi' perfect scunner,8. Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owere his trash, As feckless9. as a wither'd rash. His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash His nieve10. a nit: Through bloody flood or field to dash, Oh, how unfit! But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll mak it whissle; And legs, and arms, and heads will sned,11. Like taps o' thrissle. Ye powers wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare. Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,12. That jaups13. in luggies;14. But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer. Gie her a haggis! 1 Jolly.^ 2 Small intestines.^ 3 Wipe.^ 4 Smoking.^ 5 Burst.^ 6 Pig. ^ 7 Vomit.^ 8 Loathing.^ 9 Pithless.^ 10 Fist.^ 11 Cut off.^ 12 Thin stuff.^ 13 Splashes.^ 14 Wooden dishes.^ * A wooden skewer with which it is lifted out and in to the vessel in which it is cooked.^ † Bellies. Selkirk Grace Some hae meat and cannot eat. Some cannot eat that want it: But we hae meat and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit. Click to enlarge	Auld Lang Syne SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?     CHORUS For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne ! We twa hae run about the braes, And put't the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin' auld lang syne ! For auld &c. We twa hae paidlet i' the burn, Frae mornin sun till dine : But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. For auld &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,1. And gie's a hand o' thine ; And we'll tak a right gude willie-waught,2. For auld lang syne ! For auld &c. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine ; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. For auld &c. 1 Friend.^ 2 Draught.^ Scots Wha Hae with Wallace Bled SCOTS, wha hae wi' WALLACE bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to Victory! Now's the day, and now's the hour: See the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edwards power- Chains and slavery! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a cowards grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn, and flee! Wha for SCOTLAND'S king and law, FREEDOM'S sword will strongly draw; Freeman stand or freeman fa', Let him follow me! By Oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! LIBERTY'S in every blow!— Let us do, or die! The Star o' Rabbie Burns There is a star whose beaming ray Is shed on ev'ry clime. It shines by night, it shines by day And ne'er grows dim wi' time. It rose upon the banks of Ayr, It shone on Doon's clear stream - A hundred years are gane and mair, Yet brighter grows its beam. Chorus Let kings and courtiers rise and fa', This world has mony turns But brightly beams abune them a' The star o' Rabbie Burns. Though he was but a ploughman lad And wore the hodden grey, Auld Scotland's sweetest bard was bred Aneath a roof o'strae. To sweep the strings o'Scotia's lyre, It needs nae classic lore; Tis mither's wit and native fire That warms the bosom's core. Chorus On fame's emblazon'd page enshrin'd His name is foremost now, And many a costly wreath's been twin'd To grace his honest brow. And Scotland's heart expands wi' joy Whene'er the day returns That gave the world its peasant boy Immortal Rabbie Burns. Chorus Meaning of unusual words: gane=gone mair=more fa'=fall aboon=above hodden gray=coarse homespun cloth made from a mixture of black and white wool strae=straw
The annual Burns supper program taken from the Pentagon, Washington DC in January 2000

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