from: "King Lear," Act V, Scene III by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

"The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long."

--William Shakespeare
"King Lear"
Act V, Scene III

"Meaning of the Colors of the Bell of the Borders' Tartan" by William H. Bell

BLACK is for the Border and in Remembrance of our Dead.
BLUE is for the Sky above and the Oceans o'er we fled.
GREEN is for the Border's hue and the Promise of Nature's Plan.
RED is for the Blood we've shed, our courage and elan. 
YELLOW is the Sunburst,
Our Honor shinning bright for all to tell,
That soon, with Justice proper,
The Re-establishment of CLAN BELL!

"Lead, Kindly Light" by John Henry Newman (1801-1890)

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,--
Lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene,--one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on:
I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead thou me on!
I loved the garish days, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still
Will lead me on;
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone;
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

"Sixteen Tons" by Merle Travis

Some people say a man is made outta mud
A poor man's made outta muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine
I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
I loaded sixteen tons of number nine coal
And the straw boss said "Well, a-bless my soul"

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain
Fightin' and trouble are my middle name
I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion
Cain't no-a high-toned woman make me walk the line

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

If you see me comin', better step aside
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don't a-get you
Then the left one will

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

Tombstone of John Bell

"Here bluidy Bell baith skin and bane
Lyes quitely still aneath thys stane
He was a stark moss-trooper kent
As ever drave a nout oer bent
He brynt ye Lockwood Tower and Hall
And flang ye lady oer ye wall
For whilk ye Johnstone stout and wyte
Set Blackheth a' in lowe by nyght
Whyle cry'd a voice, as if frae Hell
Haste, open ye gates for bluidy Bell"

--Inscription said to be from the Tombstone of John Bell (died 1510)

"The Thisle of Scotia" --Unknown

"Let the lily of France in luxuriance bloom,
let the shamrock of Erin its beauty maintain,
Let the rose of fair England still waft its perfume,
but the Thistle of Scotia will dearest remain.
'Twas the badge that our fathers triumphantly wore
when they followed their sovereigns to vanquish the Dane,
The emblem our Wallace in battle aye bore;
then the Thistle of Scotia must dearest remain.
it blooms on our mountains, it blooms in the vale,
it blooms in the winter, in snow, and in rain,
The type of her sons when rude seasons assail~
to Scotia, her Thistle will dearest remain."

"Out Over the Forth" by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

"Out over the Forth I look to the north,
But what is the north
and its Highlands to me?

"The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
the far foreign land,
or the wild rolling sea.

"Bit I look to the west, when I gae to rest,
that happy my dreams and my slumber may be;
For far in the west lives he I lo'e best,
the lad that is dear to my babie and me."

"Moss Troopers Lament" by Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)

"Oh! a' ye gallant Borders!
Ilk water, moss and fell,
To a' your weel kent nooks and crooks,
Forever, Oh! Farewell!
For we'll go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
We'll go no more a roving,
Though the moon shine e'er so bright.
O we'll go no more a roving!

"Oh when the Har'est moon shone
What blithe times did we see!
On wanton naigs, wi splent on spauld,
We rade sae merrilie!
But we'll go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
We'll go no more a roving,
Though the moon shine e'er so bright.
O we'll go no more a roving!

"Our King's gone o'er the Border
In London for to dwell;
And friends we maun wi' England be,
Sin' he reigns there himsel:
And go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
We'll go no more a roving,
Though the moon shine e'er so bright.
O we'll go no more a roving!

"O how shall I, tether'd,
On Yarrow banks abide!
That far as Trent and Humber
Hae scour'd the Southrons wide.
Oh! To go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
We'll go no more a roving,
Though the moon shine e'er so bright.
O we'll go no more a roving!

"And how shall I follow
A droning plough's tail,
And how now break my bonnie Brown
To hart'l like a snail!
And go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
We'll go no more a roving,
Though the moon shine e'er so bright.
O we'll go no more a roving!

"But when the blithsome Borders
Hae lost their riders gay,
The Scots will miss their hardy men,
And cry, Alack the day!
That they go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
They go no more a roving,
Though the moon shine e'er so bright.
O they'll go no more a roving!"

"The Banks of Nith" by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

"The Thames flows proudly to the sea,
Where royal cities stately stand;
But sweeter flows the Nith to me,
Where Cummings ance had high command:
When shall I see that honour'd land,
That winding stream I love so dear!
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand
For ever, ever keep me here?

"How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom;
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,
Far from thy bonie banks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days!"