Birthplace of Symington and Ramsay!
Whose names in thee are household words,
Who honour gained in peaceful times.
With steam and pencil, not with swords.
Leadhills! what mem'ries cling around thee
Of boyhood's day and riper years,
Of social hours I spent with friends,
Whose loss I mourned with bitter tears.
Young friends have gone to dangers distant,
And e'en to death, if so He wills;
Their hearts are thine--engraven on them
The image of their home, Leadhills.
A few remain whose hoary locks
Proclaim their course is nearly run,
Facing with kindred dust they'll lie,
The Lowthers and the rising sun.
We pass; we go we know not where;
The future's hidden from our gaze:
We live by faith; we do believe
This life is but a passing phase.
Leading to something ever greater,
Purer, higher, brighter far.
Steadfastly let's do our duty,
Honour for our guiding star.