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It is not ornamental, the cost is not great,
There are things far more useful, yet truly I state,
That of all my possessions, there is none can compare,
With the White Leathern Apron, which all Masons wear.
As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant,
When Dad hustled round, and so much time was spent
On shaving and dressing, and looking just right.
Until Mother would say, "It's the Masons tonight."
And some winter nights she said, "What makes you go
Way up there tonight through the sleet and the snow,
You see the same things every month in the year."
Then Dad would reply, "Yes, I know it, my dear.
Forty years I have seen the same things, it is true
And though they are old, still they always seem new.
For the hands that I clasp and the friends that I greet,
Seem a little bit closer, each time that we meet."
Years later I stood at that very same door,
With good men and true, who had entered before
I kneeled at the altar, and there I was taught
That virtue and honor can never be bought.
That the spotless white lamb-skin, all Masons revere,
If worthy worn, grows more precious each year,
That service to others, brings blessings untold,
That men may be poor, though surrounded by gold.
I learned that true brotherhood flourishes there,
That enmities fade beneath the compass and square.
That wealth and position are all thrust aside,
As there, on the level, men meet and abide.
So honor the lamb-skin, and may it remain
Forever unblemished and free from all stain.
And when we are called to the Great Father's love,
May we all take our place in the Grand Lodge above.
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