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Olde Hynge Colle
As magnett to the pole,
Was trelo to Masonry;
Swore the climax of delyghte,
And intellectual lyghte,
Was the knife and forke degree.
And he never put on

His royall aprone,

But he sayd to the strynges, sayd hee, "Whenne I've dyned, if you're wholle, My name's not Colle."

Oh a mery olde manne was hee.

For Olde Kynge Colle

Telas a mery olde sowle, etc.

CXXVI. ROYAL ARCH SONG.

Tune-God save he king.

God caused great lights to shine,
Moving in orbs divine,

Which ever shall
Banish all darkness quite,
With their refulgent light,
And from eternal night,
Save Masons all.

Sanctum sanctorum,
Now in our forum,

Wisdom's revealed;

Sublimest arts refin'd,
Excellent arches bind,
No law in heart or mind
Shall be conceal'd.

Few tho' our numbers are,
Therefore in royal chair,
Honours abound:

We will join hearts and hands,
Whilst truth in Scripture stands,
None but the royal bands
Shall circle round.

CXXVIL ARK MARINER'S SONG.
(By Bro. William Stokes.)
Recitative.

Silent the pipe had lain neglected long,
The Muse uncourted, and the lyre unstrung,
Poetic fire sunk to a latent spark,

Till rais'd by Rancliffe*-for its theme the Ark, (That Ark to whom we all existence owe,) And gracious promise of the varied Bow.

A former Lord Rancliffe.

Air.

When in his ark of gophir wood,
Noah rode buoyant on the flood,
O'erwhelm'd with sad despair and woe,
A guilty race sunk down below,
With blest Omnipotence its guide,
The mastless Ark did safely ride,
And on the mount, from danger free,
Did rest the whole Fraternity.

Recitative.

The floods decrease, and now with joy are seen,
The hills and valleys in their wonted green.
The altar smokes, the fervent prayer ascends,
And Heav'n, well pleas'd, to man's request attends,
The grand ethereal Bow is form'd above,
Sure token of beneficence and love.

Air.

Look round the gay parterre,
Whence fragrant scents arise,
And beauteous flowrets there
Enchanting meet your eyes:
Delightful streak or shade
In native colours glow;
Yet is no hue display'd

That shines not in the Bow.

In leafy umbrage green,
Sweet blows the violet;
And in the hyacine

A deeper blue is met.
How varied are the shades
That in our gardens blow!
Yet not a tint's display'd

That shines not in the Bow.

CXXVIII. MARK MASTER'S SONG.

Mark Masters, all appear
Before the Chief O'erseer-
In concert move:

Let him your work inspect,
For the Great Architect,
If there be no defect,
Ye will approve.

Ye who have passed the Square,
For your rewards prepare,
Join heart and hand;
Each with his mark in view,

March with the just and true;
Wages to you are due,

At His command.

Hiram, the Widow's Son,
Sent unto Solomon

Our great key-stone;
On it appears the name
Which raises high the fame
Of all to whom the same
Is truly known.

Now to the Westward move,
Where, full of strength and love,

Hiram doth stand;

But if imposters are

Mix'd with the worthy there,

Caution them to beware

Of the right hand.

Now to the health of those
Who triumphed o'er the foes
Of Mason's art,

To the praiseworthy three,
Who founded this degree,
May all their virtues be
Deep in each heart.