Masonic Poetry

A Masonic Prayer

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide,
Who marked each element's border,
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim
Whose sovereign statute is order,
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention,
Or withered envy ne'er enter,
May secrecy round be the mystical bound
And brotherly love be the center.

In the Beginning

In early days, when Masonry was young,
And heavenly music dwelt upon her tongue,
Celestial sweetness tempered every grave,
With radiant glory beaming from her face;
Her flowing raiment pure as virgin snow,
Or fabled field where fairest lilies grow.

A milk-white lamb ran sporting by her side;
And innocence her manner dignified.
Her whole deportment harmony and love,
Tempered with meekness from the realms above.
A blazing star upon her front she wore;
An emblem of the integrity she bore.

Where'er she trod the Sciences arose;
Where'er she breathed confusion tamed her foes;
Dismayed they fled, nor dared to look behind,
For foes of her were foes of human kind.

A Prayer for Old Age

God guard me from those thoughts men think
  In the mind alone;
He that sings a lasting song
  Thinks in a marrow-bone.

In Mason's Hall

In Mason's Hall, with earnest eyes,
   Upon the Chart before me,
I viewed the symboled mysteries
That Masons keep and Masons prize;
I see the arm my brothers wield,
Uplifted with its burnished shield,
   Let fall its shadow o'er me.

Free Verse

Three candles burn in darkened room,
Three candles lighting the Sacred Book
The square and compasses, the level and the plumb.
While round about the neophyte,
The brethren stand and vow to keep
Him company upon the journey East
In quest of wisdom and a caring heart.
For the call is out for builders by the line and rule,
To build on earth a house of light
Adorned with love and human dignity.

The Mystic Bower: A Song for Three Voices

'Tis to Masons ever pleasing,
In the Mystic Bow'r to meet;
Temp'rate Wine their Joys increasing,
Joys which Music makes complete.

When with Wine our Veins are swelling,
Friendship's Fires the brighter burn;
Music, Grief and Care expelling,
Bids true Joy succeed in turn.

They says that such Pleasures shou'd not be conceal'd,
Let Fools their Ill-Nature and Envy expose;
We laugh at their Folly, be nothing reveal'd,
Our Pleasures will always be under the Rose.

The Point Within the Circle

The point of the compass pierces the plane,
  a central mark to firmly intend
the axis true that all around
  an unbroken flow of ink will bend.

The surface welcomes the cunning steel,
  Precisely the arm extends its throw.
With gentle art is inscribed the arc
  first slowly, now fast, and again slow.

Finally the line to itself is joined
  into an infinite, glittering band —
the compass lifts and is folded away
  by an invisible, eternal hand.

Khuram

Born twice, buried thrice,
  the master cursed and blessed;
the word, secured forever —
  a substitute for the rest.

The Plumb Stone

Once a holy altar,
  now a rude block.
No incense, no oil—
  Into rubbish thrown.

For centuries laid
  to the side, worthless rock;
By the Plumb—Adhuc Stat!—
  is risen the stone.