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Article THE WORSHIPFUL MASTER. Page 1 of 8 →
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The Worshipful Master.
THE WORSHIPFUL MASTER .
BY BRO . E 3 IRA HOLMES , F . R . H . S ., Author of "Amabel Vaughan , " "Notes on the United Orders of the Temple and Hospital , " etc .
CHAPTER VI . THK DEAD POET . " TJENHALIGOISr , who wrote these lines ? " said Lord Esme , a day or two -L after , to his friend , who had just bandaged his foot afreoh for him . " What lines ?" " I will read them ; " and thc young lord read , with great feeling , the following : —
TO LITTLE EDITH . ( From the Chicago Voice of Masonry . ) In tlie evening twilight I know a little maiden Who loves to sit and play to me when I am very tired ; And whether they are airs she heard in some far distant Aiden , ' Or whether by musician ' s skill she hath been now
inspired—I know not , but the art divine is in her slender lingers , And the light of genius is surely in her eyes ; And I listen to the music as it slowly lingers , And , dreaming , watch my little rose-bud with a glad surprise . Sometimes a sparkling tune , like fairy music stealing , She gaily playeth to me while I lie still and rest ;
And straight there cometh over me a strange and pleasant feeling Of childhood ' s days of joyousness , when I was happy , blest . Anon a mournful cadence of melancholy sweetness , Like the weird strains from some Eolian harp , Comes from the noble instrument ; then , with a fickle fleetness , She strikes some minor chords again , stridulous and sharp . And sometimes my musicianwho hath seen but two lustres
, , Playeth a grand psalm , majestic , full of peace ; And I see the Promised Land , the wine-press , and the clusters Of the True Vine , high in Heaven : then it all doth cease . Oh ! my little maiden , a gracious gift God gave thee , When those sweet , sad harmonies He taught thy hands to play ; There is a soul in music , and perchance it may be That we shall hear it in the realms of Everlasting Day .
Like Israel ' s sweet psalmist , who can tell the sorrow Thou may'st , with thy heaven-born gift , cause to pass away ? Many a suiferer , ere 'tis night , wisheth for the morrow , And the ministry of music easeth pain alway . " I like those verses very much : they are signed ' W . E . P . '" " Oh ! they are by my grandfather ; he died about five years ago , and was
one of the Cornish poets . " " Indeed ; and who was little Edith ? "
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Worshipful Master.
THE WORSHIPFUL MASTER .
BY BRO . E 3 IRA HOLMES , F . R . H . S ., Author of "Amabel Vaughan , " "Notes on the United Orders of the Temple and Hospital , " etc .
CHAPTER VI . THK DEAD POET . " TJENHALIGOISr , who wrote these lines ? " said Lord Esme , a day or two -L after , to his friend , who had just bandaged his foot afreoh for him . " What lines ?" " I will read them ; " and thc young lord read , with great feeling , the following : —
TO LITTLE EDITH . ( From the Chicago Voice of Masonry . ) In tlie evening twilight I know a little maiden Who loves to sit and play to me when I am very tired ; And whether they are airs she heard in some far distant Aiden , ' Or whether by musician ' s skill she hath been now
inspired—I know not , but the art divine is in her slender lingers , And the light of genius is surely in her eyes ; And I listen to the music as it slowly lingers , And , dreaming , watch my little rose-bud with a glad surprise . Sometimes a sparkling tune , like fairy music stealing , She gaily playeth to me while I lie still and rest ;
And straight there cometh over me a strange and pleasant feeling Of childhood ' s days of joyousness , when I was happy , blest . Anon a mournful cadence of melancholy sweetness , Like the weird strains from some Eolian harp , Comes from the noble instrument ; then , with a fickle fleetness , She strikes some minor chords again , stridulous and sharp . And sometimes my musicianwho hath seen but two lustres
, , Playeth a grand psalm , majestic , full of peace ; And I see the Promised Land , the wine-press , and the clusters Of the True Vine , high in Heaven : then it all doth cease . Oh ! my little maiden , a gracious gift God gave thee , When those sweet , sad harmonies He taught thy hands to play ; There is a soul in music , and perchance it may be That we shall hear it in the realms of Everlasting Day .
Like Israel ' s sweet psalmist , who can tell the sorrow Thou may'st , with thy heaven-born gift , cause to pass away ? Many a suiferer , ere 'tis night , wisheth for the morrow , And the ministry of music easeth pain alway . " I like those verses very much : they are signed ' W . E . P . '" " Oh ! they are by my grandfather ; he died about five years ago , and was
one of the Cornish poets . " " Indeed ; and who was little Edith ? "