  By the late Sheriff Logan. "Far and sure! far and sure!" 'twas the cry of our fathers, 'Twas a cry which their forefathers heard; 'Tis the cry of their sons when the mustering gathers: When we're gone may it still be the word. "Far and sure!" there is honour and hope in the sound; Long over these Links may it roll! It will—O it will! for each face around Shows its magic is felt in each soul. Let it guide us in life; at the desk or the bar, It will shield us from folly's gay lure; Then, tho' rough be the course, and the winning post far, We will carry the stakes—O be sure! Let it guide us in Golf, whether "Burgess" or "Star;" At the last round let none look demure: All Golfers are brothers when driving is far, When putting is canny and sure. "Far and sure! far and sure!" fill the bumper and drain it, May our motto for ever endure; May time never maim it, nor dishonour stain it; Then drink, brothers, drink, "Far and sure!" |
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