Masonic Poetry Page
Greetings Brethren , here is a small selection of Poetry I have gathered from contacts etc.
A Masonic Toast
| To him that all things understood, |
| To him that found the stone and the wood, |
| To him that hapless lost his blood |
| In doing of his duty. |
| To that blest age, and that blest morn |
| Wherein those three great men were born, |
| Our noble science to adorn |
| With Wisdom, Strength and Beauty |
THE MASONIC RING
Those men who help my dad each day,
They wear those mason rings.
A Square and Compass set in gold,
The praise of which I sing.
My dad, he hurt his back you know,
One cold and wintry day.
He slipped and fell upon the ice,
The insurance would not pay.
And since that time those rings I see,
On hands that help us much.
With mowing lawns and hauling trash,
Each day my heart they touch.
They even built a house for me,
Amid our backyard tree.
Where all the neighbour kids,
Would play with laughter full of glee.
My Mom she cried from happiness,
The time the Masons came.
To aid our family in distress,
Without a thought of gain.
And when I'm big,
just like my dad,
Of this it must be told.
I want to wear a ring like his,
A Square and Compass gold.
Long years have passed
since when My dad was in that plaster cast.
And since I swore that Solemn Oath,
Which unites us to the last.
But more than that I'm proud to say,
I wear his Mason ring.
The one dad wore for many years,
Until his death this spring.
And one last time his comrades came,
To aid my weeping mother.
They praised and bid a fond farewell,
To our fallen Brother.
And after which MY son did ask,
About their Aprons white.
And of the rings upon their hands.
Of gold so shiny bright.
With tearful eyes I said with pride,
They're men of spirit pure.
Those men who wear those Mason rings,
Of that you can be sure.
And before he went to bed that night,
The family he foretold.
Someday I'll wear a ring like dad's,
A Square and Compass gold.
Ten Master Masons
that veil the heavenly blue,
the Master sits within the East,
and checks on what you do.
prosaic though they be,
the rule of plumb and square observe
for all the world to see.
your tools you lay away,
'twill be how well your work was done
on which he'll base your pay.
and seek to enter in,
'tis only He can vouch for you,
and free you from your sin.
o trappings, rich and rare,
'tis heart and mind and love of man
that grants you welcome there!
Our wives and families we salute;
We surely know the price you pay,
Who sit alone while we're away.
In Lodge, your name is seldom heard;
You serve our cause though out of sight,
While sitting home alone tonight.
Awards are given, fit to frame;
But yours is absent...you who strive,
To keep our fortitude alive.
On your encouragement we feed;
Without your blessings, how could we,
Continue acts of charity?
To every Master Mason's mate;
And offer our undying love,
Rewards await in Heaven above.
THE LAMBSKIN
It is not ornamental, the cost is not great
There are other things far more useful, yet truly I state,
Tho’ of all my possessions, there’s none can compare,
With that white leather apron, which all Masons wear.
As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant,
When Dad hustled around and so much time was spent,
On shaving and dressing and looking just right,
Until Mother would say; "It’s the Masons tonight".
And some winter nights she said; "What makes you go,
Way up there tonight thru’ the sleet and the snow,
You see the same things every month of the year".
Then Dad would reply; "Yes, I know it, my dear".
"Forty years I have seen the same things it’s true,
And though they are old, they always seem new,
For the hands that I clasp, and the friends that I greet,
Seem a little bit closer, each time that we meet".
Years later I stood at that very same door,
With good men and true, who had entered before.
I knelt at the alter and there I was taught,
That virtue and honour can never be bought.
That the spotless white Lambskin all Masons revere,
If worthily worn, grows more precious each year.
That service to others brings blessings untold
That man may be poor, though surrounded by gold.
I learned that true Brotherhood flourishes there,
That enmities fade ‘neath the Compass and Square.
That wealth and position are all thrust aside,
As there on the level, men meet and abide.
So honour the Lambskin, may it always remain,
Forever unblemished and free from all stain.
And when we are called to the great Fathers love,
May we all take our place in that Lodge up above.
TUBAL CAIN
by Charles Mackay
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might
In the days when the Earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers
And he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang "Hurra for the handiwork!
Hurra for the spear and sword!
Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"
To Tubal Cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire;
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade
As the crown of his desire.
And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,
And spoils of the forest free;
And they said, "Hurra for Tubal Cain,
Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire,
And hurra for the metal true!"
But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun,
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain for
The Evil he had done;
He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind,
That the land was red with the blood they shed,
In their lust for carnage blind.
And he said, "Alas! that ever I made,
Or the skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow-man."
And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;
And his hand forebore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smoldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong right hand for work
While the quick flames mounted high!
And he sang, "Hurra for my handicraft!"
And the red sparks lit the air;
"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made!"
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands;
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands;
And sang, "Hurra for Tubal Cain!
Our staunch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough
To him our praise shall be;
But while oppression lifts its head,
Or a tyrant would be lord
Though we may thank him for the plough
We'll not forget the sword!"
The Tabernacle
By David Hamilton - 2000
When in the place of desolation I see
A colorful gate, always there, inviting me
Within the linen that surrounds the court
It is here I'm near the righteous port
Moving closer I encounter the altar
A wonderful place for all who falter
Here the blameless sacrifice ascends
Join the acceptance, of God who descends
An here, the fire of God is revealed
Consuming the sin so long concealed
Tis a place of death and of repentance
That man may rise, free from its sentence
Approaching the laver, as to the grave
Buried in water, arising to be saved
A priest passing through the door of grace
Dressed for service for His Holy Place
To the right a table of wood and of gold
On which is the bread, that never grows old
Eternally fresh is the sustaining Word
Life when eaten by those who have heard
Turning to the Light, the Lamp of Gold
Beautifully wrought, and made without mold
Gods decorative lampstand called the Menorah
Shining forth His glow, and His euphoria
Revealing walls of wood, overlaid with gold
And the beautiful tapestry, it must be told
The cherubim woven, their wings do hover
Under which all who enter, are protected by its cover
Before the veil, we now stand
The way is now open, for mortal man
The dividing veil is now rent
Thank God, for this cause, the Lamb was sent
Opening up the way to the throne of God
Into his presence, the Holy of Holies, we now trod
Oh the majesty and glory of it all
Before the Ark of His Covenant we must fall
For here in this room, is the throne of grace
It is here, God calls his secret place
A place not hidden from those within
Those God's washed and freed from sin
Here among God's holy objects
The truth now revealed, in this divine project
The house designed for all in shackle
Can only be God's perfect plan, "The Tabernacle"
DID
Did I help or hurt today Lord,
Is anyone happier that I passed this way,
Will anyone remember that I spoke to them today
And when the day is over and toiling time is through
Will someone say a kindly word, for me – for you
I wonder can I say in parting
From a day that’s slipping fast,
Did I help a single Brother
From the many that I passed,
Is a single heart rejoicing
Over what I did or said,
Does someone whose hopes were fading,
Now with
Did I win this day or lose it,
was it well or poorly spent,
Did I leave a trail of kindness,
Or a scar of discontent,
As I close my eyes in slumber,
To the Architect above I pray,
That I’ve earned one more tomorrow,
By the Good I Did Today.
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