As the Lodge of Robert Burns, Bard of Scotland, Lodge Tarbolton (Kilwinning) St.James is very proud of our history. Not only is Burns revered for his poetry, but the world over he is known to and respected by Freemasons.

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Visitors are encouraged to visit the Virtual Museum of this website, to view and learn more about the various relics that the Lodge has in its possession dating back and relating to the time when Burns himself became a Mason in the Lodge.

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Of Burn's poems, the one which is perhaps held dearest to the Brethren of Lodge 135, and which is known to all Masonic brethren, is "The Farewell to the brethren of St.Jame's Lodge, Tarbolton". Written by Burns when he was planning to emigrate to Jamaica, the final lines form the historical basis for the toasting that is seen at Burns suppers all over the world.

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It remains a tradition in our Lodge, that every year at the Burns Supper, our Depute Master recites this poem, then toasts Bro. Robert Burns:

 

The Farewell to the brethren of St.Jame's Lodge, Tarbolton

by Bro. Robert Burns

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Adieu! a heart-warm, fond adieu;
Dear Brothers of the Mystic Tie!
Ye favoured, ye enlighten'd few,
Companions of my social joy! 
Tho I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba'; 
With melting heart and brimful eye, 
I'll mind you still, tho far awa.

 

Oft have I met your social band, 
And spent the cheerful, festive night:
Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 
Presided o'er the Sons of Light;
And by that Hieroglyphic bright,
Which none but Craftsmen ever saw! 
Strong Mem'ry on my Heart shall write
Those happy scenes, when far awa.

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May Freedom, Harmony, and Love, 
Unite you In the Grand Design, 
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above - 
The glorious Architect Divine, 
That you may keep th' Unerring Line,
Still rising by the Plummet's Law,
Till Order bright completely shine,
Shall be my pray'r when far awa.

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And you farewell! whose merits claim 
Justly that Highest Badge to wear: 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name, 
To Masonry and Scotia dear! 
A last request permit me here 
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round, I ask It with a tear,
To him, the Bard that's far awa.