Untutored in fine arts and graces
Old ghosts slip out of secret places.
Watched by a host of Scottish kings
They walk the stately rooms and wings.
The lantern in the abbey’s lit
All with a common purpose sit.
The solemnities are duly said
Hymns sung in honour of the dead.
In quiet concordance, hand in hand
A gathering of the low and grand…
In the dignity of repose men find
A rare communion of the mind.
