POETRY

 

 

 

 

THE FIRST LINE

It's Lodge Night , and I'm getting ready
To assemble myself with the craft;
I've gone through my lecture so many times
Seems I know it now, both fore and aft.

I'm confident I guess. And I should be
For I've spoken many months in a mumble;
I know that the Brethren, will all be impressed
When you're good, It's hard to be humble.

So it's out to the car, and away I go
Then fear strikes me, clear to the bone;
I'd better go through this. Just one more time,
It's my last chance, while I'm still alone.

I've hardly noticed this trip at all
Now suddenly, I'm parking the car;
My hearts beating wildly. As I climb the stairs
I hear voices. Not near, but far.

Their lips are all moving, but I don't hear a word
I have to concentrate on my First Line;
Sure it'll be easier the next time around
But the trick is to do it the first time.

The Lodge is now open, and the work has begun
The first section's about to come to a close;
Gee, I should have gone to the men's room.
I feel faint, and I can't breathe through my nose.

They've just called my name, and I've taken my place
Boy! They don't give a feller much time;
And I've lost my book in a shirt with one pocket
And I can't remember my First Line.

I've learned a good lesson. It is I who's impressed
And I shall never forget this first time;
After all of the prompting, I now am convinced,
Know it all, as good as the First Line!!

Earl W. Owens
Belpre (Ohio) Lodge #609

 

 

 

 

BY THE WORK YOU DID TODAY

Can you say tonight in parting
with the day that's slipping past
That you helped a single brother
of the many that you passed?

Is a single heart rejoicing
over what you did and said?
Does the man whose hopes where fading,
Now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day or lose it,
Was it well or poorly spent?
Did you leave a trail of kindness,
Or a scar of discontent?

As you close your eyes in slumber,
Do you think God will say,
You have earned one more tomorrow,
By the work you did today

Charles L. Mead 33°
Boynton Lodge #236

 

 

 

 

THE LAMB SKIN

It is not ornamental, the cost is not great,
There are other things far more useful, yet truly I state,
Tho of all my possesions, there's none can compare,
With that white leather apron, which all Masons wear.

As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant,
When Dad hustled around, 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 thru the sleet and the snow,
You see the same things every month of 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, 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 knelt at the alter, and there I was taught
That virtue and honor can never be bought.

That the spotless white lambskin all Masons revere,
If worthily worn grows more precious each year,
That service to others brings blessings untold,
That man may be poor tho surrounded by gold.

I learned that true brotherhood flourishes there,
That enmities fade 'neath the compass and square,
That wealth and position are all thrust aside,
As there on the level men meet and abide.

So, honor the lambskin, may it always 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 that Lodge up above.

Edgar A. Guest

 

 

 

 

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