We blest all his merits, forgetting each fault, Suggested by others, the time-serving crew, Who diverting his greatness from much that it sought, [view. Kept its bright orb, then only eclipsed, from our But this is not the time to express our lament
For all that he might have been, rightly advised, Oh, no-no-not now!-be our tears only spent Över worth that we feel had been more highly prized
If flatterers-always round Princes-had known, And respected the honest devotion we gave, Springing up like the flowers affection had sown Throughout life, ever his, though reserved for the grave.
Go rest with our prayers, thy best guerdon of fame,
Sole solace now left us-high priest of our creed, Future ages of Masons will hallow thy name; And as reapers are gratefal to him that sowed seed,
While gathering the harvest-ours be it to bless The hand of that Prince, though in coldness now laid,
Who has left on our science the royal impress Of his spirit-let each Brother thus hail his shade.
If goodness desired an eternity here,
If high-thinking greatness should never leave earth,
If heaven had no other permanent sphere
For all the most valued, that here has its birth; If loftiest station with mildness combined
Could-oh, that it could!-midst us always reside,
If firmness of thought and true greatness of mind Had a charm against death-Sussex could not have died,
And still in that Lodge-comprehensive above,
Where hope tells each Mason to seek his true
home,
Where purged of its earthiness our life of love
Will exist throughout ages of ages to come→→
Still take over us thy proud place in the East,
The spots that a moment have dimm'd thy
bright ray,
Passed off-we will hail thee, there, still our High
Priest,
Feeling ever more blest, as the spots pass away.
XXVI. ADDRESS.
(By Bro. P. E. Byrne.)
(In aid of the Masonic Orphan School, Dublin.)
When first the Mighty Architect design'd
One master virtue to adorn the mind,
Amid this world of want and war below,
He taught us how to feel for others' woe,
And gave to us, he said, a precept new-
"Love one another as I have loved you!"
For the fulfilment of that high command,
To hold to suffering worth a brother's hand,
We've met to-night; and it is sweet to see
This triumph of heaven-born Charity,
Whose kindly voice hath, like a magic sound,
Drawn all those beaming eyes and smiles around-
Smiles that from no poor affectation start,
But own their fountain in each kindred heart.
Woman's bright eyes to cheer us in our task,
And snowy hands to give us all we ask!
Welcome, fair sisters! 'tis no common cause
That claims to-night your aid and your applause:
No ruin'd spendthrift, who but justly pays
Atonement for his dissipated ways;
No sturdy mendicant, who ill can bear
Refusal of his peremptory prayer;
No half impostor, studied to impose-
Oh, no! We ask your pity but for those
On whom adversity hath shower'd distress,
And age, and sickness, and heart-brokenness!-
For infant girls left helplessly to tread
A cruel world, without the means of bread-
Without a friend to cherish and to love,
Save only Him, the one great Friend above.
'Tis yours to shield their limbs that ill can bear
The inclement chillness of the wintry air,-
To snatch them from the gulf where thousand
For hapless beauty infamy prepares,
To dry the burning tear-drops that run o'er,
And point to hope and better things in store!
All this is yours, and Masonry divine
Triumphantly exclaims, ""Tis also mine!"
Yet now, methinks, some gentle fair I hear,
"Bless us! what crowds of Masons we have
here!
Masonry is a very curious thing
'Tis something wrong I'm just considering.
Brother, I do not mean to be uncivil,
But, tell me, do they really raise the devil?
Some one, I hope, will let the secret out,
And tell the people what 'tis all about!'
Fair ladies, really you have not guess'd well, The secret is-I have a mind to tell
To tell, no, not the secret-but to say,
We thank you all for coming to our play.
You've aided us; with you we've done our best
To succour virtue, friendless, and distress'd;
We own, too, that but for your gentle aid,
Weak would have been each effort we have made.
Yours be the triumph, then! for, without you,
Our prospects would (like us) look rather blue!
Accept the thanks of every Mason here-
Not from lips only, but from hearts sincere;
May ye be loved and happy without bar,
But think of Masons only as they are!
Heed not the stories vulgar minds receive,
But keep this night in memory, and believe
That Charity and Masonry (the same
In principle) but differ in the name!
XXVII. THE PERFECT MASON.
(By Bro. Walter Spencer.)
The mass of marble, in the quarry piled
Lay hidden, under vegetation wild
Time passed, and rising o'er the common mart
Stood statues, robed in loveliness of art,
And temples in magnificence appear'd
On perfect ashlars in due order rear'd.
Upon the marble, Genius came and shone,
And wrought ideals from the blocks of stone.
E'en so, in human nature's hidden deeps,
In every human breast a giant sleeps;
Unrecognised, inert, unfelt, unknown,
Like those ideals in their homes of stone;
Until Occasion's spirit-stirring din
Rouses the tenant from his rest within.
For all the prodigies that shake the earth
Spring up unmark'd and from a common birth:
The mighty conqueror who all subdued,
Whose dinted tracks ran o'er with kindred blood;
The frenzied orator, whose words of fire
Kindled the peoples to their fierce desire;
The stern law-giver, in his creed arrayed,
Planning his empire-vision, undismayed;
The dauntless maiden, pure and simply grand,
Driving the spoilers from her native land;
These brilliant types all herded with the rest
Till Destiny woke the giant in the breast.
A type like these, tho' flaming out so bright,
Is but the meteor, not the steady light;
Frequent, and at night, the meteors fall;
Freat Occasion cannot come to all.
Yet every earthling grovelling below
May beam with brighter and celestial glow,
In the GRAND LODGE's infinite design
Each may adorn the OVERSEER's shrine:
For ends more glorious our race is ripe,
Our culmination is a higher type!
The GREAT GEOMETRICIAN above
By whose behest the Craftsmen live and move-
Each sordid human frame His image holds,
Altho' disguised within its mortal folds.
The Master Mason, sculptor of the soul,
With this ideal for his work and goal,
Developes it in love, thro' patient years;
Trait after trait the type divine appears
With beauty that its Prototype endues,
Chef d'œuvre for the GREAT ARCHITECT to use.
Till, when the time is come, as come it must,
For what is dust to fall to kindred dust,
The type divine soars up to the Divine
With an immortal brilliancy to shine,
Proved by the aid of Wisdom, Truth, and Love-
A perfect Ashlar in its place above.
XXVIII. THE 1ST JANUARY.
(By Bro. Walter Spencer.)
(Extracted from the Freemason's Chronicle.)
As we gaze thro' months to come
Before our eyes the pathless Future reaches;
Expected weal will fructify for some,
And some will learn the moral sorrow teaches;
To Brethren dear, whose hopes are soaring high,
The year beams as with Gladness' oil anointed!
Others may think the months too loath to fly
And linger, disappointed.
But let us commence, at least,
With kindly sympathy for every Fellow;
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