Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Poem,
Long before you and-I were born—now take it as a warning-Have danced all-night , till broad day light , And gone home with the gilds in the morning . Legendsof youth and beauty are not all
The thoughts that cluster round a Mason's hall : The sweetest incense of the " auld lang syne " ¦ ¦ We offer at our memory ' s radiant shrine , Is not alone of those who sang and laughed , But of the noble men who worked their Craft
In our first Lodges , now a century gone * Blessed with the memory of the good St . John ; Name fitly chosen , he who loved to rest His weary head upon his Saviour ' s breast , St . John of all disciples the niost blest . There they found food to feed the suffering poor , And sympathy the wounded heart to cure ;
Masonic rites all solemnly were said Above the coffin of the sheeted dead ; Masonic Brothers heard the widew ' s prayer , And orphans blessed the fostering Mason ' s care . Nor this alone : those aged walls have rung
With shouts of laughter and with peals of song ; Good stories told again , and yet once more Shout they with laughter louder than before , Till the old building echoes with the i * oar Of giant lungs in mighty frames confined , Who in those halls have ate and- —never mind .
Old men have told me , m their friendly talk , Legends of bottles with a popping cork—Of amber liquids , with a silver sheen , Put up in bottles made of glass and green , Covered with cobwebs and with whitening mould , Called something like'" Madeira , " I am told , y
: No rude excess presided o ' er the bowl , For ancient Masons were of iron soul ; And there ' s a moral , we will not forget , Strychnine and poison weren't invented yet . From the crushed grapes the purple wine-drops flowed , Fit spirit for Anacreontic ode—Champlin presided at the festive
board—Carlysle ' s own hand the flowing goblet poured . Old-fashioned friendship was the usage then , And men in thought and feeling were but men—Not vain pretenders to fictitious rights , But gallant as were chivalry ' s old knights , With hearts of oak , but ever open hand , Leaders and brothers in one common hand .
n : *• * -Ys - My Brothers ! even now my wayward muse Has worn tlxe pinions from her winged shoes ; Her laggard steed feels not the poet ' s goad , Spavined and wind-gone , travelling life's rough road , His earlier mettle wasted in his youth , Avei ^ e to verses , must my lyre speak truth ;
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Poem,
Long before you and-I were born—now take it as a warning-Have danced all-night , till broad day light , And gone home with the gilds in the morning . Legendsof youth and beauty are not all
The thoughts that cluster round a Mason's hall : The sweetest incense of the " auld lang syne " ¦ ¦ We offer at our memory ' s radiant shrine , Is not alone of those who sang and laughed , But of the noble men who worked their Craft
In our first Lodges , now a century gone * Blessed with the memory of the good St . John ; Name fitly chosen , he who loved to rest His weary head upon his Saviour ' s breast , St . John of all disciples the niost blest . There they found food to feed the suffering poor , And sympathy the wounded heart to cure ;
Masonic rites all solemnly were said Above the coffin of the sheeted dead ; Masonic Brothers heard the widew ' s prayer , And orphans blessed the fostering Mason ' s care . Nor this alone : those aged walls have rung
With shouts of laughter and with peals of song ; Good stories told again , and yet once more Shout they with laughter louder than before , Till the old building echoes with the i * oar Of giant lungs in mighty frames confined , Who in those halls have ate and- —never mind .
Old men have told me , m their friendly talk , Legends of bottles with a popping cork—Of amber liquids , with a silver sheen , Put up in bottles made of glass and green , Covered with cobwebs and with whitening mould , Called something like'" Madeira , " I am told , y
: No rude excess presided o ' er the bowl , For ancient Masons were of iron soul ; And there ' s a moral , we will not forget , Strychnine and poison weren't invented yet . From the crushed grapes the purple wine-drops flowed , Fit spirit for Anacreontic ode—Champlin presided at the festive
board—Carlysle ' s own hand the flowing goblet poured . Old-fashioned friendship was the usage then , And men in thought and feeling were but men—Not vain pretenders to fictitious rights , But gallant as were chivalry ' s old knights , With hearts of oak , but ever open hand , Leaders and brothers in one common hand .
n : *• * -Ys - My Brothers ! even now my wayward muse Has worn tlxe pinions from her winged shoes ; Her laggard steed feels not the poet ' s goad , Spavined and wind-gone , travelling life's rough road , His earlier mettle wasted in his youth , Avei ^ e to verses , must my lyre speak truth ;