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Masonic Poetry N-S
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No Time For God From the 1971 Annual Communication of the Grand Lodge of Mississippi
O, MOTHER LODGE WE'VE WANDERED FAR By Lawrence Greenleaf
OLD TUBAL CAIN By Charles Mackay
OUR MASONIC DUTY By Robert Turney
THE ROYAL ART By Silas H. Shepherd
Secretary's Note Author Unknown
THE SHIP OF LIFE ON THE OCEAN OF TIME By Silas H. Shephard
Sonnet By Carl H. Claudy
No Time For God
From the 1971 Annual Communication of the Grand Lodge of Mississippi F.&A.M.
You've time to build houses and in them to dwell
And time to do business -- to buy and to sell;
But none for repentance, or deep earnest prayer;
To seek your salvation, you've no time to spare.
You've time for earth's pleasure, for frolic, for fun,
For glittering trees how quickly you run.
But care not to seek the fair mansions above;
The favor of God or the gift of His love.
You've time to take voyages over the sea
And time to take in the gay world's jubilee;
But soon your bright hopes will be lost in the gloom
Of the cold dark river of death and the tomb.
You've time to resort to woods, mountains and glen
And time to gain knowledge from books and men;
But you've no time to search for the wisdom of God.
But what of your soul when you're under the sod?
For time will not linger when helpless you lie
Staring death in the face, you will take time to die.
Then what of the judgment? Pause, think, I implore
For time will soon be lost on eternity's shore.
O, MOTHER LODGE WE'VE WANDERED FAR
Lawrence Greenleaf
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far
And knocked at many a door,
Since first we wore thy Lambskin gift
And trod thy Checkered Floor.
Since first thy symbols met our gaze
And claimed our constant thought,
Till patient search at length revealed
The hidden truths they taught.
When heart at name of Brother thrilled,
And loyal but to thee,
We loved thy Square and Compass, and
Adored thy letter G.
The Chapter held recovered truths,
Why not possess the same,
That thought awoke a new desire
And fanned it into flame.
The honor sought at length was ours,
We read the Keystone's face
And saw the treasures long entombed
Brought from their hiding place.
Another tie had bound our heart,
Another name had we
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far
Yet still we cling to thee.
The Council next a votary claimed
We passed within its door.
The orders then of Knighthood took,
But still we craved for more.
The Scottish Rite's prolific brood
Rose temptingly to view,
We reveled in the mysteries
Expressed by 32.
At last the crowning honor came,
With figure 33.
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far,
Yet still we cling to thee.
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far,
From thy more simple ways
Mid scenes of splendid pageantry
With glories all ablaze.
Where dulcet strains fall on our ear
And pealing anthems ring,
And wisdom of the antique world
Was voiced by silvery tongue
And yet, withal, true Son of Light
With vision clear to see,
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far,
Yet still we cling to thee.
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far,
With longings vain possessed,
No higher jewel than thy Square
Is worn on Mason's Breast.
No higher badge than thy first gift,
The Lambskin pure and white,
Thy Pointed Star ascendant is
o'er every grade and rite.
Between thy Pillars all must pass,
or else must cease to be.
O, Mother Lodge, we've wandered far,
Yet still we cling to thee.
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might
In the days when the earth was young
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,
The strokes of his hammer rung
And he lifted high his brawny hand
on the iron, glowing clear
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet rout
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang,--"Hurrah for my handiwork!
Hurrah for the spear and sword!
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"
To Tubal Cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire,
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade
As the crown of his own desire;
And he made them weapons, sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud with glee,
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold
And spoils of the forest free.
And they sang,--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain
Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire!
And hurrah for the metal true!"
But a sudden change came o'er his head,
Ere the setting of the sun;
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done
He saw that men with rage and hate
Made war against their kind
And the land was red with the blood they shed,
In their lust for carnage blind
And he said,--"Alas, that I ever made
Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword, for the man whose joy
Is to slay his fellow man!"
And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe
And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smoldered low!
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong, right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high;
And he sang,--"Hurrah for my handiwork";
And the red sparks lit the air;
"Not alone for the blade, was the bright steel made,"
And he fashioned the first plowshare!
And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And plowed the willing lands;
And they sang,--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain,
Our staunch good friend is he!
And for the plowshare and the plow,
To him our praise shall be!"
But while oppression lifts its head,
Or a tyrant would be lord,
Though we may thank him for the plow,
We'll not forget the sword!
OUR MASONIC DUTY
Robert Turney
F. to F. that we should go
When sickness brings a brother woe,
To cheer him on his bed of pain,
And nurse him back to health again.
K. to K. when e'er we pray
At early mom, or close of day,
A brother's name shall claim a share
In every thought and every prayer.
B. to B. thee still to keep
A brother's secrets hidden deep,
To all the world but us unknown,
And hold them sacred as our own.
H. to B. with firmest grasp,
Encircling arms and friendly clasp,
We should be found at duty's call,
To stay a brother's tottering fall.
M. to E. when e'er we find
To err a brother is inclined,
We'll counsel give in gentlest tone
And breathe it to his ear alone
Then F. to F. and K. to K.,
True brothers we should ever be;
With H. to B. and B. to B.,
Each striving still to do his best,
We'll whisper words of hope and cheer,
With C. to C, and M to E
When I was a King and a Mason,
A Master proven and skilled,
I cleared me ground for a Palace
Such as a King should build.
I decreed and dug down to my levels;
Presently, under the silt,
I came on the wreck of a Palace,
Such as a King had built.
There was no worth in the fashion,
There was no wit in the plan--
Hither and thither, aimless,
The ruined footing ran--
Masonry, brute, mishandled,
But carven on every stone:
"After me cometh a Builder,
Tell him. I, too, have known."
Swift to my use in my trenches,
Where my well planned ground-works grew,
I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars,
And cut and reset them anew.
Lime I milled of his marbles:
Burned it, slaked it, and spread,
Taking and leaving at pleasure
The gifts of the humble dead.
Yet I despised not nor gloried;
Yet, as we wrench them apart,
I read in the razed foundations
The heart of that builder's heart.
As he had risen and pleaded,
So did I understand
The form of the dream he had followed
In the face of the thing he had planned.
When I was a King and a Mason--
In the open noon of my pride,
They sent me a Word from the Darkness--
They whispered and called me aside,
They said: "The end is forbidden."
They said: "Thy use is fulfilled.
Thy Palace shall stand as that other's--
The spoil of a King who shall build."
I called my men from my trenches,
My quarries, my wharves and my sheers.
All I had wrought I abandoned
To the faith of the faithless years.
Only I cut on the timber--
Only I carved on the stone:
"After me cometh a Builder,
Tell him, I, too, have known."
THE PLUMB:
by Neal A. McAulay
Build up your life like the temple of old,
With stones that are polished and true;
Cement it with love, and adorn it with gold,
As all Master builders should do.
Upon a foundation, well chosen and strong,
Build now for the ages to come:
Make use of the good, while rejecting the wrong
And test all your work with the plumb.
So many men before thy Altars kneel
Unthinkingly, to promise brotherhood:
So few remain, humbly to kiss thy rood
With ears undeafened to thy mute appeal;
So many find thy symbols less than real
Their teachings mystic,--hard to understand;
So few there are, in all thy far flung band
To hold thy banner high and draw thy steel,
And yet--immortal and most mighty, thou!
What hath thy lore of life, to let it live?
What is the vital spark, hid in thy vow?
Thy millions learned, as thy dear paths they trod,
The secret of the strength thou hast to give;
"I am a way of common men to God."
THE ROYAL ART
Silas H. Shepherd
Thou, Royal Art, in splendor clothed;
By verse and learned orator extolled
What is thy power o'er men so frail?
Where is thy wisdom ne'er assailed?
Is it in mystic rites and form
Or legends to which all conform,
That men find satisfaction rare,
And in it's ceremonies share?
It never could the wise attract
By mystic rite or tragic act;
Did not some power in secret lie
Hidden from all but worthy eye.
Its secret most profound and rare
All worthy men may likewise share.
It welcomes men with motives pure;
It helps to make their lives secure.
It feeds, with Truth, the hungry soul;
It lights the darkness to the goal,
Where Father waits His souls to meet,
Who as a brother fellows greet.
It clears the air of doubt and fear,
It gives to life delight and cheer,
It makes the Brotherhood of Man
A consummation of His Plan.
Secretary's Note
Author Unknown
Forget the hasty, unkind word:
Forget the slander you have heard;
Forget the quarrel and the cause;
Forget the whole affair, because,
Forgetting is the only way.
Forget the storm of yesterday;
Forget the knocker, and the squeak;
Forget the bad day of the week.
Forget you're not a millionaire;
Forget the grey streaks in your hair;
Forget to even get the blues -
But don't forget
To Pay Your Dues!
THE SHIP OF LIFE ON THE OCEAN OF
TIME
Silas H. Shephard
The ship that sails the bounding billows
Has a captain in command
To direct her course and steer her
So that she may safely land
In the port which she is bound for,
After fight with dangerous shore;
Landing precious human cargo
Safe from ocean's danger more.
Human life is also likened
To a ship on Time's vast sea;
Conscience is the captain of her
To direct what life shall be.
Do not let the good ship vary
>From the course which it directs;
A safe harbor will await her
If from it she ne'er deflects.
There are many charts to guide us;
There's a light on danger's shore:
We must keep the good ship seaward,
And avoid the siren's lure.
We should close up all the hatches,
When there's danger or a fire.
We should reef the sails of pleasure
In the tempest of desire.
`Tis a voyage we all must venture,
And to make it safe and sure,
Keep the captain, -Conscience, wakened;
Use a chart both true and pure.
Such a chart is Square and Compass
And the ever present "G";
It will safely guide the captain
Over many a troubled sea.
So many men before thy Altars kneel
Unthinkingly, to promise brotherhood;
So few remain, humbly to kiss thy rood
With ears undeafened to thy mute appeal;
So many find thy symbols less than real,
Their teachings mystic, hard to understand;
So few there are, in all thy far flung band
To hold thy banner high and draw thy steel,
And yet . . . immortal and most mighty, thou!
What hath thy lore of life to let it live?
What is the vital spark, hid in thy vow?
Thy millions learned, as thy dear paths they trod,
The secret of the strength thou hast to give:
"I am a way of common men to God."
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