No, 'tis too much these ranc'rous taunts to bear
Rise generous Muse! our spotless fame
To the wide world aloud proclaim,
And freely what a Mason is declare.
In virtue clear we court the light,
Rever'd the more the more we're known;
And fain the Muse would here incite
Each worthy man the name to own.
Let the Freemason, then, to all appear!
Behold the man each prince admires,
Behold the friend each man desires,
For ever loyal, zealous, and sincere.
Fair Liberty, with Order bland,
And radiant Pleasure, lov'd so well,
With Temp'rance sage, in seemly band,
Within our walls for ever dwell.
From vulgar eyes our pleasures tho' we screen,
Yet rigorous laws our acts restrain:
Remorse or anguish ne'er can pain
The Mason's breast, nor cloud his mind serene.
The constant aim of all our plans
Is to restore Astrea's reign;
That awful Truth may guard our lan's,
While hateful Guile shall prowl in vain.
Each lonely path with structures we adorn,
And all the buildings which we raise
Are temples that the Virtues grace,
Or prisons close for the foul Vices form.
While thus to man our praises sing,
Let not the softer sex repine,
Nor angry charge against us bring,
That we their favours dare decline.
If from their steps our sanctuaries we guard.
When they the reason just shall know,
Resentment they can never show,
But rather with due praise our caution will reward.
Exchanting sex! in whom combine
Each brilliant charm, each tender grace,
With awe we bow before your shrine,
But still we fear you while we praise;
For in our earliest lesson it is said,
If Adam had but once withstood
From female charms what seem'd so good, Nature each man, most sure, a Mason would have made.
XXIV. THE MASON'S DREAM.
Hail, happy dreams! thy gift, O balmy sleep,
When the tired senses from their vigil keep;
And the rapt soul escapes its tomb of earth,
To taste in visions its immortal birth.
Pledge of the glorious future, when old Time
His scythe and iron sceptre shall resign;
When Death, the guardian of life's unknown
shore,
Lost in Eternity, shall reign no more.
Hail, blessed sleep! thine is the gifted spell
To 'wake in shadows scenes remembered well;
To set the chain'd imagination free,
And paint in rainbow hues whate'er might be;
Visions of Heaven to thoughts of earth combine,
And form a whole-half human, half divine,
As late I wandered, where the Rhine's swift tide
Severs Almagnia from fair Gallia's side,
Thy power fell on me; by that lovely stream
My soul was plunged in an Elysian dream [o'er,
Methought that life's brief, joyless scene was
And that I trod that tesselated floor-
That sacred lodge, the goal of life's short race,
The faithful Mason's holy resting place.
Gorgeous the scene that burst upon my sight:
The Royal Arch, veiled in its flood of light,
Enoch's lost mystery, embroidered fair,
In characters of living gold was there.
The good of every land before that shrine,
Adored the mighty Architect divine,
The Eastern magi, and the Grecian sage,
The wise of every clime, of every age
All who received the law, with wisdom fraught,
And practised in their lives the truths it taught.
On either side two graceful columns rose,
Shadowing the mighty thrones, reared high for
those
Chiefs of the Craft-David, thy royal son,
And Tyre thy boast, Hiram and Solomon.
Enthroned, as while on earth, in purple state,
Favoured 'bove all, the Temple's builder sat.
His regal brow flashed with the living gem,
As pure, as matchless bright, and dazzling then
As when in earthly pomp and state it bore
Old Israel's diadem of yore.
And He, the unnamed faithful constant one,
Victim and chief, the widow's only son,
Stood by the altar ministering there
The holy offering of his brethren's prayer,
Who yet on earth pursued the narrow road
That leads to Virtue's happy last abode.
Badge of his sacred rank the square he wore,
A golden censer in his hand he bore,
Streaming with odours not from the sandal tree,
Frankincense, myrrh, or spice of Araby.
But from the grateful tears by children shed,
Who, snatched from want, partake the Mason's
bread;
From honest poverty's warm, heartfelt prayer,
Saved by the Mason from its lone despair.
And shall such friends of Charity and Truth,
Not reap in age the harvest of their youth?
Shall those whose hands in affluence freely gave,
In poverty and sorrow seek the grave?
Shall no home shelter the grey Mason's head?
Doom'd in his age to ask his daily bread;
Of all the Temples to the Craft endear'd,
Shall but one pile to charity be rear'd? *
Forbid it THOU, who, in the human heart
Didst all life's gushing sympathies impart,
Its generous tear, its pity for distress,
Its impulse to relieve the fatherless;
Those perfect parts of an imperfect whole,
Those mortal signs of an immortal soul.
Such was the thought that e'en in that bright hour
Shadow'd my spirit with its chilling power,
For I had known the good and just bereft
Of life's bare means, no place of shelter left;
Brothers who ne'er the suppliant's prayer denied,
But with free hand his pressing want supplied;
Had seen their struggles, grief, and honest shame,
Too proud to ask, fearing a beggar's name;
Their sorrows known when but too late to save
Worth and distress from an untimely grave.
Transient the thought;- for lo! on either side,
I saw the portals of the Lodge divide;
BENEVOLENCE appeared,-bearing a plan
Of humble refuge for the aged man;
The time-worn Masons' temple-a design
Of earthly skill; but charity divine
Then burst on high the loud triumphant hymn
Of praise, of joy, of gratitude to HIM,
Creator-Tutor-Architect, who gave
The heart to frame, the generous hand to save,
The virtues crowding round, approved, the while
Mercy beheld it with a joyful smile;
A smile as pure as ere was given
By soul redeem'd, just winged for heaven;
Her holy, heartfelt prayer in dulcet tone,
Rose with that hymn to th' Eternal's throne,
A gush of rapture from an angel's voice,
That bade the sorrowing sons of earth rejoice.
As o'er my soul, the flood of music broke,
In tears from that blest dream my spirit woke.
XXV. LAMENT FOR THE DUKE OF SUSSEX, M.W.G.M.
(By Bro. E. R. Moran, of the Grand Master's
Lodge, No. I.)
"In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was
heard,
[descend;"
Unembitter'd and free did the tear-drop
In the presence of death could a censure get word
Or could tears, save Regret's, be pour'd out for
our friend?
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