Transcription Notes:

This Internet file is not a copy of this entire book. It is presented here as a collection of poetry, rather than as a textbook mixing poetry and prose.

Despite Sherer's declaration in the Preface that he had written or completely re-written everything included in this book, 81% of the 62 poems were by Rob Morris, and the rest by several other authors. Only 1 could not be identified, and may have been Sherer's own. Most were word-for-word, but a few poems differed from the original versions in tiny but significant ways. Mouse over red words for details. No authors were ever attributed, and most poems appeared without a title. We have appended a note with title and author to the start of each poem.

The first edition of this book came out in 1866, and this file has been been compared with the 1876 edition of this book, and found to be identical.

If a more precise rendition is required, a photocopies of the book are available online at Google Books (1866 edition), and at the University of Michigan Library, Ann Arbor (1876 edition).

There was no artwork, no Table of Contents, no indexes. A Table of Contents has been added to this MPS file between the dedication page and preface, and MPS indexes of authors, titles, and first lines have been compiled at the end of this page.

okl.

THE

MASONIC LADDER:

OR THE

Nine Steps to Ancient Freemasonry,

BEING

A PRACTICAL EXHIBIT, IN PROSE AND VERSE,

OF THE

MORAL PRECEPTS, TRADITIONS,

Scriptural Instructions and Allegories

OF THE DEGREES OF

ENTERED APPRENTICE, FELLOW CRAFT, MASTER MASON,

MARK MASTER, PAST MASTER, MOST EXCELLENT MASTER, ROYAL ARCH
MASON, ROYAL MASTER AND SELECT MASTER,

By JOHN SHERER,

Compiler of the "Masonic Carpets of Blue Lodge, Chapter and Council
Masonry," and other Masonic Publications.

---

CINCINNATI, OHIO:
PUBLISHED BY SHERER & CO.
1866.

---

CINCINNATI:
R. W. CARROLL & CO., PUBLISERS,
1876.

The last three lines of this page were the only part different between the two editions, so both are shown here.

---

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866,
BY JOHN SHERER,
In the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of Ohio.

---

TO

The Great Masonic Brotherhood,

"A MULTITUDE, WHICH NO MAN CAN NUMBER, OF ALL NATIONS
AND KINDREDS AND PEOPLE AND TONGUES;"

WORSHIPING A COMMON DEITY; JOINING HANDS AROUND A COMMON ALTAR;
ENGAGED UPON LIKE DEEDS OF BENEFICENCE ON EARTH,
AND CASTING HOPE'S STRONG ANCHOR UPON
THE SAME HEAVENLY SHORE;

The Masonic Ladder,

ILLUSTRATING THE THREE GREAT SYSTEMS OF SYMBOLICAL,
CAPITULAR AND CRYPTIC MASONRY,

IS MOST RESPECTFULLY AND FRATERNALLY

Dedicated,

B Y   J O H N   S H E R E R .

PREFACE

In presenting a new volume to the Masonic Fraternity, and soliciting their patronage for it, it is incuznbent on the compiler to show wherein it differs from, and claims superiority over, other publications already in the market.

The great number of Masons do not sufficiently discriminate between the doctrines, covenants and aims of the different degrees. The Three, Seven, or Nine Degrees, conferred in the various Masonic bodies, are apt to be jumbled up in the minds of their recipients, as though they were only so many sections of the same Degree. The more striking parts of the ceremony are remembered, while the instructions, which give the rational explanations of the emblems, are forgotten. Something, then, is needed which the brother can take home with him and read, to refresh his mind upon what is, in reality, the only practical part of the Masonic institution. For this part the "Monitor" is used, and so far as it goes it supplies that want. But the "Monitor" is not sufficiently diffuse. There is not sufficient latitude given to the historical branch of the subject; nor in the moral application of Masonry is the "Monitor" precise and distinct. Something more has been wanted by generations of Masons, and it is strange that none of the Masonic authors have attempted to supply that want.

"The Masonic Ladder" has been prepared with reference to this very want. It is so arranged that the brother may, by its perusal, recall the more striking parts of the Degrees he has taken; may judge of the extent of his covenants; may understand what bearings the history and geography of the Holy Land have upon the traditions that have been communicated to him; and may trace out to its full extent the excellent morality taught in each Degree. At the same time that "The Masonic Ladder" assists the brother to remount the steps he has taken, and enjoy over again the pleasant thoughts experienced when he first took them, they communicate no secrets to an outsider. Like the Bible itself; which is full of Masonic secrets to the initiated, "The Masonic Ladder" can not open the way to the arcana of the Order save to those who have once penetrated to them.

The compiler has had able assistance in the preparation of this volume, and all the matter contained in it, whether original or selected, has been re-written and adapted to the plan upon which the book was prepared.

The compiler is so well known as the author and publisher of Sherer's "Masonic Carpets" and "Masonic Degree-Books," that he will be indulged in saying that "The Masonic Ladder" is prepared in strict accordance with those well-known and popular productions. The form of the Emblems, and the order of their arrangement, were guides in combining "The Masonic Ladder," so that the two may go together. Every Lodge that has heretofore purchased a Carpet, or may hereafter supply itself with a Degree-Book, can now have a volume explanatory of it. This is a desideratum long sought for by the Lodges.

CINCINNATI, OHIO, JANUARY, 1866.

THE FIRST ORDER IN FREEMASONRY.

THE SYMBOLICAL DEGREES:

CONSISTING OF

THE ENTERED APPRENTICE,

THE FELLOW CRAFT,

AND

THE MASTER MASON.

Title: ASK! SEEK!! KNOCK!!!
Author: Rob Morris

ASK, and ye shall receive;

SEEK, ye shall surely find;

KNOCK, ye shall no resistance meet,

If come with ready mind;

For all that ASK, and ask aright,

Are welcome to our Lodge to-night.

Lay down the bow and spear;

Resign the sword and shield:

Forget the arts of warfare here,

The arms of peace to wield;

For all that SEEK, and seek aright,

Are welcome to our Lodge to-night.

Bring hither thoughts of peace;

Bring hither words of love:

Diffuse the pure and holy joy,

That cometh from above;

For all that KNOCK, and knock aright,

Are welcome to our Lodge to-night.

ASK help of Him that's high;

SEEK grace of Him that's true:

KNOCK patiently, the hand is nigh,

Will open unto you;

For all that ASK, SEEK, KNOCK aright,

Are welcome to our Lodge to-night.

THE ENTERED APPRENTICE.

Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

Where two or three assemble round

In work the Lord approves,

His spirit with the group is found

For 'tis the place He loves:

Be now all hearts to friendship given,

For we, the Sons of Light, are seven.

Bring here the Gavel and the Gauge,

Those implements renowned;

And from each conscience disengage

The faults that there abound:

Be now afar each folly driven,

For we, the Sons of Light, are seven.

Display the Law, the volume grace

With Compass and with Square;

Illume the tapers in their place,

And all for work prepare:

We'll please our Master well this even,

For we, the Sons of Light, are seven.

Spread o'er us yon rich Canopy,

Set up the Ladder high,

That angel-visitants may see

And from their stations fly:

Where Faith, Hope, Charity have striven,

And we, the Sons of Light, are seven.

THE WISE CHOICE OF SOLOMON.

Author: Rob Morris

When in the dreams of night he lay,
Fancy-led through earth and air,
Whispered from the heavenly way,
The voice of promise met his ear;
Fancy ceased his pulse to thrill —
Gathered home each earnest thought —
And his very heart was still,
Awhile the gracious words he caught.

"Ask me whatso'er thou wilt,
Fame or wealth, or royal power;
Ask me, ask me, and thou shalt
Such favors have as none before!"
Silence through the midnight air —
Silence in the thoughtful breast —
What of all that's bright and fair,
Appeared in youth and hope the best?

'Twas no feeble tongue replied,
While in awe his pulses stood:
"Wealth and riches be denied,
But give me WISDOM, voice of God!
Give me wisdom in the sight
Of the people thou dost know;
Give me of thyself the light,
And all the rest I can forego."

Thus, 0 Lord, in visions fair,
When we hear thy promise-voice,
Thus like him will we declare,
That WISDOM is our dearest choice.
Light of heaven, ah, priceless boon!
Guiding o'er the troubled way;
What is all an earthly sun,
To His celestial, chosen ray?

Wisdom hath her dwelling reared,
Lo, the mystic pillars seven!
Wisdom for her guests hath cared,
And meat, and wine, and bread hath given.
Turn we not, while round us cry,
Tongues that speak her mystic word;
They that scorn her voice shall die,
But whoso hear are friends of God,

Title: Quarry, Hill And Temple
Author: Rob Morris

Thine in the Quarry, whence the stone

For mystic workmanship is drawn;

On Jordan's shore,

On Zarthan's plain,

Though faint and weary, thine alone.

The gloomy mine knows not a ray;

The heavy toil exhausts the day;

But love keeps bright

The weary heart,

And sings, I'm thine, and thine alway.

Thine on the Hill, whose cedars rear

Their perfect forms and foliage fair;

Each graceful shaft,

And deathless leaf,

Of Masons' love the symbols are.

Thine, when a smile pervades the heaven;

Thine, when the sky's with thunder riven;

Each echo swells

Through answering hills,

My Mason-prayer; for thee 'tis given.

Thine in the Temple, holy place,

Where silence reigns, the type of peace;

With grip and sign,

And mystic line,

My Mason's love I do confess.

Each block I raise, my friendship grows,

Cemented firmly, ne'er to loose;

And when complete,

The work I greet,

Thine in the joy my bosom knows.

Thine at the midnight, in the cave;

Thine on the floats upon the wave;

By Joppa's hill,

By Kedron's rill,

And thine when Sabbath rest we have.

Yes, yes, dear friend, my spirit saith,

I'm thine until and after death;

No bounds control

The Mason's soul,

Cemented with a Mason's faith.

Title: Shoe
Author: Rob Morris

Take this pledge; it is a token
Of that truth which ne'er was broken —
Truth, which binds the mystic tie
Under the All-seeing Eye.

Take this pledge; the ancient brother
By this type bound every other,
Fondly, firmly; death alone
Rends the bond that makes us one.

Take this pledge; the type so lowly
Is, of all our symbols, holy;
'Tis Divine; it tells of One,
Gives the raindrops and the sun.

Take this pledge; the token sealeth
All the Judgment-day revealeth;
Honor, truth, fraternal grace
In thy hands with this we place.

Excerpt from "Masonic Greeting"
Author: Rob Morris

There is a cord of length,
There is a chain of strength —
Around you each I see the sacred coil;
How long, ah, well I know;
How strong, your deeds do show
The while you labor in the sacred toil.

Title: Universality Of Freemasonry
Author: Rob Morris

Wherever man is tracing
The weary ways of care,
'Midst arid deserts pacing,
Or land of balmy air,
We surely know each other;
And with our words of cheer,
The Brother hails his Brother,
And hope wings lightly there.

Wherever tears are falling,
The soul's December rain
Or heavy sighs are calling
To human hearts in vain;
Wherever prayer is spoken,
In earnestness of faith,
And we perceive the token
That tells our Master's death;

Wherever man is lying,
Unnoticed and unknown,
Uncared-for in his dying,
Unheard in cry and groan,
We surely know each other;
And with our words of cheer,
The Brother hails his Brother,
And hope wings lightly there.

Title: The Emblems Of The Craft
Author: Rob Morris
[Note that the order of the 3rd and 4th verses are switched.]

Who wears THE SQUARE upon his breast,
Does in the eye of God attest,
And in the face of man,
That all his actions do compare
With the Divine, th' unerring Square —
That squares great virtue's plan:
That he erects his Edifice
By this design, and this, and this!

Who wears THE LEVEL, says that pride
Does not within his soul abide,
Nor foolish vanity;
That man has but a common doom,
And from the cradle to the tomb,
A common destiny:
That he erects his Edifice
By this design, and this, and this!

WYho wears THE G; ah, type divine!
Abhors the atmosphere of sin,
And trusts in God alone;
His Father, Maker, Friend, he knows —
He vows, and pays to God his vows,
As by th' Eternal throne:
And he erects his Edifice
By this design, and this, and this!

Who wears THE PUMB, behold how true
His words, his walk! and could we view
The chambers of his soul,
Each thought enshrined, so pure, so good,
By the stern line of rectitude,
Points truly to the goal:
And he erects his Edifice
By this design, and this, and this!

Thus life and beauty come to view,
In each design our fathers drew,
So glorious, so sublime;
Each breathes an odor from the bloom
Of gardens bright beyond the tomb,
Beyond the flight of time:
And bids us build on this and this,
The walls of God's own Edifice!

The Fellow Craft.

Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

This lodge of five from Tyre came,
Their leader one of matchless fame;
All through the toiling seasons seven,
Their time upon this work was given.

This lodge of five from Joppa's shore
To Sion's hill have journeyed o'er;
The quarry's inmost crypt have traced,
Whence many a stone the wall has graced.

This lodge of five have reared the shaft
That on the eastward hails the Craft;
And well they know each mystic line
That sanctifies the great Design.

This lodge of five with faith obey
The holy Law and holy Day,
And humbly bow when'er they see
The emblem of the Deity.

This lodge of five, for honest toil,
Good wages have, Corn, Wine, and Oil;
And should a brother be in want,
They ne'er forget the covenant

This lodge of five have nearly done
The glorious work so long begun,
And homeward-bound they soon will see
The MASTER in eternity.

Excerpt from "Corn, Wine, Oil"
Author: Rob Morris
[Full text of this poem is on page 123 of this book.]

"Upon the sacred Altar lies,
Ah! many a precious sacrifice,
Made by these working men;
The passions curbed, the lusts restrained,
And hands with human gore unstained,
And hearts from envy clean."

Title: The Level And The Square
Author: Rob Morris

We meet upon the Level and we part upon the Square;
What words of precious meaning those words Masonic are
Come, let us contemplate them, they are worthy of a thought,
In the very soul of Masonry those precious words are wrought.

We meet upon the Level, though from every station come,
The rich man from his mansion, and the poor man from his home:
For the one must leave his greatness outside the Mason's door,
While the other finds his level upon the checkered floor.

We part upon the Square, for the world must have its due;
We mingle with the multitude, a faithful band and true,
But the influence of our gatherings in Masonry is green;
And we long upon the Level to renew the happy scene.

There's a world where all are equal; we are hurrying toward it fast:
We shall meet upon the Level there, when the gates of death are pass'd;
We shall stand before the Orient, and our Master will be there,
To try the blocks we offer with his own unerring Square.

We shall meet upon the Level there, but never thence depart;
There's a Mansion — 'tis all ready for each trusting, faithful heart;
There's a Mansion and a welcome, and a multitude is there,
Who have met upon the Level, and been tried upon the Square.

Let us meet upon the Level, then, while laboring patient here;
Let us meet and let us labor, though the labor be severe;
Already in the western sky the signs bid us prepare
To gather up our Working Tools, and part upon the Square.

Hands round, ye faithful Masons, in the bright, fraternal chain;
We part upon the Square below to meet in heaven again;
0 what words of precious meaning those words Masonic are —
We meet upon the Level, and we part upon the Square!

Excerpt from "The Emblems Of The Craft"
Author: Rob Morris
[Full text of this poem is in this book on page 35.]

Who wears the Plumb, behold how true
His words and walk! and could we view
The chambers of his soul,
Each thought enshrined, so pure, so good,
By the stern line of rectitude,
Points upward to the goal.

Excerpt from "The Emblems Of The Craft"
Author: Rob Morris
[Full text of this poem is in this book on page 35.]

Who wears the Square upon his breast,
Does in the sight of God attest,
And in the face of man,
That all his actions will compare
With the Divine, the unerring Square,
That squares great virtue's plan.

Title: Quarry
Author: Rob Morris

Darkly hid beneath the quarry,

Masons, many a true block lies;

Hands must shape and hands must carry,

Ere the stone the Master prize.

Seek for it, measure it,

Fashion it, polish it,

Then the Overseer will prize.

What though shapeless rough, and heavy,

Think ye God his work will lose?

Raise the block, the strength he gave ye,

Fit it for. the Master's use.

Seek for it, measure it,

Fashion it, polish it,

Then the Overseer will use.

'Twas for this our fathers banded;

Through life's quarries they did roam,

Faithful-hearted, skillful-handed,

Bearing many a true block home:

Noticing, measuring,

Fashioning, polishing,

For their glorious Temple-home.

The Letter G

Author: Rob Morris

That Name! I heard it at my mother's knee,
When looking up, the dear, remembered face
Beaming on mine, so fond, so tenderly,
She prayed that GOD her little son would bless.

That Name! I spoke it when I entered here,
And bowed the knee, as man in worship must;
From my heart's center, with sincerity,
I cried aloud, "In GOD is all my trust."

That Name! I saw it o'er the Master's chair,
The "Hieroglyphic bright," and bending low,
Paid solemn homage to the symbol there
That speaks of GOD, before whom all should bow.

That Name! I whispered at the Altar here,
When dangers thickened, and when death was nigh;
In solemn silence, and with soul sincere,
I prayed, "O GOD be with me, if I die!"

That Name! the last upon my faltering tongue,
Ere death shall seal it, it shall surely be;
The pass-word to the bright, angelic throng,
Whose GOD is GOD to all eternity.

That Name then, brothers, ever gently speak,
Above all father's, mother's name, revered;
What bounties from His gracious hand we take!
0, be His honor to our souls endeared.

The Perfect Ashlars

Author: Rob Morris

The sunbeams from the eastern sky
Flash from yon blocks exalted high,
And on their polished fronts proclaim
The framer and the builder's fame.

Glowing beneath the fervid noon,
Yon marble dares the southern sun;
Yet tells that wall of fervid flame,
The framer and the builder's fame.

The chastened sun adown the west,
Speaks the same voice and sinks to rest;
No sad defect, no flaw to shame
The framer and the builder's fame.

Beneath the dewy night, the sky
Lights up ten thousand lamps on high;
Ten thousand lamps unite to name
The framer and the builder's fame.

Perfect in line, exact in square,
These Ashlars of the Craftsmen are;
They will to coming time proclaim
The framer and the builder's fame.

THE MASTER MASON.

Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

O Death, thy hand is weighty on the breast
Of him who lies within thy grasp!
No power can raise the captive from his rest
Whom thy strong hand doth clasp.

The tears of broken hearts do fall in vain:
Their sighs are wasted o'er the grave;
Thou laugh'st to scorn the solemn funeral strain,
For there is none to save.

From age to age, mankind hath owned thy sway —
Submissive bowed beneath thy hand;
The hoary head, the infant of a day,
The loveliest of the band.

And thou hast struck the true and faithful now,
The model of Masonic faith;
It was a cruel and a dastard blow,
O stern, unyielding death!

Yet, boastful monster, ye shall have release,
Thy weighty hand, relentless power,
Shall be withdrawn, and all thy mockings cease,
And all thy triumphs o'er.

The Lion of the Tribe of Judah comes —
See in the heavenly east the sign!
To rend the sepulchers, disclose the tombs,
And place thee, monster, in!

Title: Brotherly Love
Author: Rob Morris

By one God created, by one Savior saved,
By one Spirit lighted, with one mark engraved,
We learn through the wisdom our spirits approve,
To cherish the spirit of Brotherly Love.

In the land of the stranger we Masons abidle,
In forest, in quarry, on Lebanon's side;
Yon Temple we build it, its plan 's from above,
And we labor supported by Brotherly Love.

Though the service be hard, and the wages be scant,
If the Master accept it, our hearts are content;
The prize that we toil for, we'll have it above,
When the Temple's completed, in Brotherly Love.

Yes, yes, though the week may be long, it will end;
Though the Temple be lofty, the key-stone will stand;
And the Sabbath, blest day, every thought will remove,
Save the memory fraternal of Brotherly Love.

Title: unknown, indexed as "Friendship"
Author: unknown, but written before 1817

Friendship, on wing etherial flying round,
Stretches her arm to bless the hallowed-ground;
Humanity, well pleased, here takes her stand,
Holding her daughter, Pity, by the hand;
Here Charity, which soothed the widow's sigh,
And wipes the dew-drop from the orphan's eye;
Here stands Benevolence, whose large embrace
Uncircumscribed takes in the human race;
She sees each narrow tie, each private end,
Indignant, Virtue's universal friend;
Scorning each frantic zealot, bigot tool,
She stamps on Masons' breasts her Golden Rule.

THE FOUNDATION-STONE.

Author: Rob Morris

When the Spirit came to Jephthah,
Animating his great heart,
He arose, put on his armor,
Girt his loins about to part;
Bowed the knee, implored a blessing,
Gave an earnest of his faith,
Then, divinely-strung, departed,
Set for victory or death.

If a rude, uncultured soldier
Thus drew wisdom from above,
How should we, enlightened laborers,
Children of the Sire of Love —
How should we, who know "the wisdom,
Gentle, pure, and peaceable,"
Make a prayerful preparation,
That our work be square and full!

Lo, the future! One can read it!
He its darkest chance can bend.
Lo, our wants! how great, how many!
He abundant means can lend.
Raise your hearts, then, laborers, boldly,
Build and journey in his trust;
Square your deeds by precepts holy,
And the end is surely blest.

Vainly will the Builders labor
If the Overseer is gone;
Vainly gate and wall are guarded
If the All-seeing is withdrawn:
Only is successful ending
When the work's begun with care;
Lay your blocks, then, laborers, strongly,
On the Eternal Rock of Prayer!

Title: The Dark Decree
Author: Rob Morris

'Tis done — the dark decree is said,
That called our friend away;
Submissive bow the sorrowing head,
And bend the lowly knee.
We will not ask why God has broke
Our Pillar from its stone,
But humbly yield us to the stroke,
And say "His will be done."

At last the weary head has sought
In earth its long repose;
And weeping freres have hither brought
Their chieftain to his close.
We held his hand, we filled his heart,
While heart and hand could move,
Nor will we from his grave depart
But with the rites of love.

This grave shall be a garner, where
We'll heap our golden corn;
And here, in heart, we'll oft repair,
To think of him that's gone;
To speak of all he did and said,
That's wise, and good, and pure,
And covenant o'er the hopeful dead,
In vows that will endure.

O Brother, bright and loving frere,
O spirit free and pure,
Breathe us one gush of spirit air,
From off the Heavenly shore;
And say, when these hard toils are done,
And the Grand Master calls,
Is there for every weary one
Place in the heavenly halls!

MONODY OF THE GRAND MASTER.

Author's Title: "Monody To P.C. Tucker"
Author: Rob Morris

Dead! and where now those earnest, loving eyes,
Which kindled in so many eyes the light?
Have they departed from our earthly skies,
And left no rays to illuminate the night?

Dead! and where now that hand of sympathy
That welled, and yearned, and with true love o'erflowed?
0 heart of love, is the rich treasure dry?
Forever sealed what once such gifts bestowed?

Dead! and where now that generous, nervous hand,
That thrilled each nerve within its generous clasp?
Will it no more enlink the Mystic band,
Hallowing and strengthening all within its grasp?

Heart, eyes, and hand to dust are all consigned;
It was his lot, for he was born of earth:
But the rich treasures of his Master-mind
Abide in heaven, for there they had their birth.

Abide in heaven! 0, the enkindling trust!
The record of his deeds remaineth here:
The Acacia blooms beside his silent dust,
And points unerringly the brighter sphere.

Then, though the Shattered Column mark his fate,
And Weeping Virgin weep the Unfinished Fane,
Not altogether are we desolate:
For O, beloved Friend, we meet again!

Excerpt from "The Entered Apprentice"
Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series; full poem is on page 12 of this book.]

Where two or three assemble round.
In work the Lord approves,
His spirit with the grasp is found,
For 'tis the place he loves:
Be now all hearts to friendship given,
For we, the Sons of Light, are seven.

Excerpt from "The Fellowcraft"
Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series; full poem is on page 44 of this book.]

This Lodge of Five from Tyre came,
Their leader one of matchless fame;
All through the toiling seasons seven,
Their time upon this work was given.

Title: All-Seeing Eye
Author: Rob Morris

There is an Eye through blackest night

A vigil ever keeps;

A vision of unerring light

O'er lowly vale and giddy height —

The Eye that never sleeps.

Midst poverty and sickness lain

The lowly sufferer weeps;

What marks the face convulsed with pain?

What marks the softened look again?

The Eye that never sleeps.

Above the far meridian sun,

Below profoundest deeps,

Where dewy day his course begun,

Where scarlet marks his labor done —

The Eve that never sleeps.

No limit bounds the Eternal sight,

No misty cloud o'ersweeps;

The depths of hell confess the light,

Eternity itself is bright —

The Eye that never sleeps.

Then rest we calm, though round our head

The life-storm fiercely sweeps;

What fear is in the blast? What dread

To us has death? an Eye's o'erhead —

The Eye that never sleeps.

Excerpt from "The Type Of Immortality"
Author: Rob Morris

Green, but far greener is the Faith
That gives us victory over death;
Fragrant, more fragrant far the Hope
That buoys our dying spirits up;
Enduring, but the Charity
That Masons teach will never die.

THE HOUR-GLASS.

Author: Rob Morris

Life's sands are dropping, dropping,
Each grain a moment dies,
No stay has time, no stopping;
Behold, how swift he flies!
He bears away our rarest,
They smile and disappear,
The cold grave wraps our fairest;
Each falling grain's a tear.

Life's sands are softly falling,
Death's foot is light as snow;
'Tis fearful, 'tis appalling
To see how swift they flow:
To read the fatal warning
The sands so plainly tell
To feel there's no returning
From death's dark shadowy dale.

Life's sands give admonition
To use its moments well;
Each grain bears holy mission,
And this the tale they tell;
"Let zeal than time run faster,
Each grain some good afford,
Then at the last the Master
Shall double our reward."

Title: Job 14:11
Author: Sir Richard Blackmore

A flowing river or a standing lake
May their dry banks and naked shores forsake;
Their waters may exhale and upward move,
Their channel leave, to roll in clouds above:
But the returning winter will restore
What in the summer they had lost before;
But if, 0 man, thy vital streams desert
Their purple channels and defraud the heart,
With fresh recruits they ne'er can be supplied,
Nor feel their leaping life's returning tide.

Excerpt from "Requiem Mass"
Author: Roman Catholic liturgy
[translation not given in this book, but a paraphrase found online follows.]

Tuba mirum spargens sonum,
Per sepulchra regionum
Coget omnes ante Thronum.

The trumpet casts a wondrous sound,
Through the tombs of all around,
Making them the throne surround.

Title: Threnody, or, Hymn Of Death
Author: Rob Morris

So falls the last of the old forest trees,
Within whose shades we wandered with delight;
Moss-grown, and hoary, yet the birds of heaven
Loved in its boughs to linger and to sing;
The summer winds made sweetest music there;
The soft, spring showers hung their brightest drops,
Glistening and cheerful on the mossy spray,
And to the last, that vigorous, ancient oak

Teemed with ripe fruitage!

Now the builders mourn

Through Temple-chambers their Grand Master fallen;
The clear intelligence, the genial soul,
The lips replete with wisdom, gone, all gone;
The ruffian Death has met and struck his prey,
And from the Quarry to the Mount all mourn.

Bind up with asphodel the mystic tools
And Jewels of the Work: bind up, ye Crafts,
The Square; it marked the fullness of his life;
To virtue's angle all his deeds were true;
The Level, lo! it leads us to the grave,
Thrice-honored, where our aged Father sleeps;
The Plumb, it points the home his soul has found;
He ever walked by this unerring line,
Let down, suggestive from the hand of God:
Bind up, in mourning dark and comfortless
The Gauge, he gave one part to God, and God,
In blest exchange, gave him eternity:
The Trowel, in his brotherly hand it spread
Sweet concord, joining long-estranged hearts;
The Hour-glass, whence his vital sands have fled,
And every grain denoting one good deed:
The Gavel in his master-hand it swayed
For three-score years the moral architects,
Quelling all strife, directing every hand,
And pointing all to the great Builder, God!

Bind these with asphodel; enshroud these Tools
And Jewels of the Work; let bitterest tears
Flow for the man who wielded them so well,
But, overborne with Death, hath, in ripe age,
His labor fully done, passed from our sight!

Title: The Freemason's Home
Author: Rob Morris

Where hearts are warm with kindred fire,

And love beams free from answering eyes,

Bright spirits hover always there

And that's the home the Masons prize.

The Mason's Home; ah, peaceful home

The Home of love and light and joy;

How gladly does the Mason come

To share his tender, sweet employ.

All round the world, by land, by sea,

Where summers burn or winters chill,

The exiled Mason turns to thee,

And yearns to share the joys we feel.

The Mason's Home; ah, happy home!

The home of light and love and joy;

There's not an hour but I would come

And share this tender, sweet employ.

A weary task, a dreary round,

Is all benighted man may know;

But here a brighter scene is found,

The brightest scene that's found below.

The Mason's Home; ah, blissfill home!

Glad center of unmingled joy;

Long as I live, I'll gladly come

And share this tender, sweet employ.

And when the hour of death shall come

And darkness seal my closing eye,

May hands fraternal bear me home,

The home where weary Masons lie.

The Mason's Home; ah, heavenly home,

To faithful hearts eternal joy:

How blest to find beyond the tomb

The end of all our sweet employ!

THE SECOND ORDER IN FREEMASONRY.

THE CAPITULAR DEGREES:

CONSISTING OF

THE. MARK MASTER, THE PAST
MASTER, THE MOST EXCELLENT MASTER, AND
THE ROYAL ARCH MASON.

THE MARK MASTER GLORIFIED.

Author's Title: The Mark Master
Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

GOD trusts to each a portion of his plan,
And doth for honest labor wages give;
Wisdom and time he granteth every man,
And will not idleness and sloth forgive.
The week is waning fast — art thou prepared,
0 laborer, for the Overseer's award?

Hast thou been waiting in the market here,
Because no man hath hired thee? Rise and go:
The sun on the Meridian doth appear —
The Master calls thee to his service now;
Rise up, and go wherever duty calls,
And build with fervency the Temple-walls.

I see, within the heavenly home above,
One who hath done his life-tasks faithfully;
In the dark quarries all the week he strove,
And bore the heat and burden of the day;
So, when life's sun passed downward to the west,
Richest refreshment was his lot, and rest.

So shall it be with thee, 0 toiling one!
However hard thine earthly lot may seem;
It is not long until the set of sun,
And then the past will be a pleasing dream.
The Sabbath to the faithful laborer given,
Is blest companionship, and rest, and heaven.

Title: Prayer — Oral Or Secret
Author: Rob Morris

There is a prayer unsaid —
No lips its accents move;
'Tis uttered by the pleading eye,
And registered above.

Each mystic Sign is prayer,
By hand of Mason given;
Each gesture pleads or imprecates,
And is observed in heaven.

The deeds that mercy prompts
Are prayers in sweet disguise;
Though unobserved by any here,
They're witnessed in the skies.

Then at the Altar kneel —
In silence make thy prayer;
And He whose very name is love,
The plea will surely hear.

The darkest road is light —
We shun the dangerous snare,
When heavenly hand conducts the way,
Responsive to our prayer.

Excerpt from "Charity"
Author: William Cowper
[This and the following two were strung together as if they were a single poem.]

Fairest and foremost of the train that wait
On man's most dignified and happy state,
Whether we name thee Charity or Love,
Chief grace below, and all in all above —
O, never seen but in thy blest effects,
Or felt but in the soul that Heaven selects;
Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known
To other hearts, must have thee in his own.

Excerpt from "The Universal Prayer"
Author: Alexander Pope

Teach me to feel another's woe —
To hide the faults I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.

Excerpt from "Charity"
Author: William Cowper

No works shall find acceptance in that day
When all disguises shall be rent away,
That square not truly with the Scripture plan,
Nor spring from love to God or love to man.

THE HAPPY HOUR

Author: Rob Morris

O, happy hour when Masons meet!
0, rarest joys when Masons greet!
Each interwoven with the other,
And brother truly joined with brother
In intercourse that none can daunt —
Linked by the ties of covenant.

See, ranged about the Holy Word,
The Craftsmen praise their common Lord!
See in each eye a love well proven,
Around each heart a faith well woven!
Feel in each hand-grip what a tie
Is this that men call Masonry!

Blest bond! when broken, we would fain
Unite the severed links again;
Would urge the tardy hours along,
To spend the wealth of light and song,
That makes the Lodge a sacred spot.
O, be the season ne'er forgot,
That takes us from the world of care
To happy halls where Masons are!

The House Of Lebanon.

Author: unknown (might be John Sherer)

On Lebanon's majestic brow
The grand and lofty cedars grew
That, shipped in floats to Joppa's port,
Up to Jerusalem were brought.

Excerpt from "Charity"
Author: William Cowper

True charity, a plant divinely nursed,
Fed by the hope from which it rose at first,
Thrives against hope, and in the rudest scene;
Storms but enliven its unfading green;
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies;
Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies.

THE PAST MASTER.

Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

O! raised to oriental chair,
With royal honors crowned,
The grace and dignity to bear,
As in the days renowned.
Let firmness guide the ruling hand,
Nor Gavel fall in vain;
And kindness soften the command,
And law the vice restrain.

The open Word delight to read —
That trestle-board of heaven —
And see that every Mason heed
The deathless precepts given;
And let the Trowel truly spread
Its cement so divine,
That all the Craft be duly paid
Their corn, and oil, and wine.

The Plumb-line, hanging from the sky,
In the GRAND MASTER's hand,
Be this your emblem, ever nigh,
By this to walk and stand;
Thus grateful Craftsmen will conspire
To sing your praises true,
And honors grant you, even higher,
Than now they offer you.

Paying The Craft Their Wages

Author's Title: "Corn, Wine, Oil"
Author: Rob Morris

They come from many a pleasant home,

To do the ancient work they come,

With cheerful hearts, and light;

They leave the outer world a space,

And, gathering here in secret place,

They spend the social night

They earn the meed of honest toil,

VVages of corn, and wine, and oil.

Upon the sacred altar lies

Ah! many a sacrifice,

Made by these working men:

The passions curbed, the lusts restrained,

And hands with human gore unstained,

And hearts from envy clean;

They earn the meed of honest toil,

Wages of corn, and wine, and oil.

They do the deeds their MASTER did;

The naked clothe, the hungry feed —

They warm the shivering poor;

They wipe from fevered eyes the tear;

A brother's joys and griefs they share,

As ONE had done before;

They earn the meed of honest toil,

Wages of corn, and wine, and oil.

Show them how Masons Masons know,

The land of strangers journeying through;

Show them how Masons love;

And let admiring spirits see

How reaches Mason's charity

From earth to heaven above;

Give them the meed of honest toil,

Wages of corn, and wine, and oil.

Then will each brother's tongue declare

How bounteous his wages are;

And peace will reign within;

Your walls with skillful hands will grow,

And coming generations know

Your Temple is Divine;

Then give the meed of honest toil,

Wages of corn, and wine, and oil.

Yes, pay these men their just desert;

Let none dissatisfied depart,

But give them full reward;

Give light, that longing eyes may see;

Give truth, that doth from error free;

Give them to know the Lord!

This is their meed of honest toil,

Wages of corn, and wine, and oil.

HUMBLE ADORATION.

Author's Title: "Most Excellent Master"
Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

PROSTRATE before the Lord,
We praise and bless his name,
That he doth condescend to own
The temple that we frame.

No winter's piercing blast,
No summer's scorching flame
Has daunted us; and prostrate here,
We praise and bless his name.

From lofty Lebanon
These sacred cedars came;
We dedicate them to thy cause,
And praise and bless thy name.

Each noble block complete,
Each pure and sparkling gem,
We give to build and beautify,
And praise and bless thy name.

With millions here below,
With heaven's own cherubim,
Prostrate before the fire and cloud,
We praise and bless thy name.

The Parting Counsel.

Author's Title: "King Solomon To His Builders"
Author: Rob Morris

King Solomon sat in his mystic chair —

His chair on a platform high —

And his words addressed,

Through the listening West,

To a band of brothers nigh —

Through the West and South

These words of truth,

To a band of brothers nigh.

Ye builders, go! ye have done the work —

The cape-stone standeth sure;

From the lowermost rock

To the loftiest block,

The fabric is secure —

From the arch's swell

To the pinnacle,

The fabric is secure.

Go, crowned with fame: old time will pass,

And many changes bring;

But the deed you've done,

The circling sun

Through every land will sing;

The moon and stars,

While earth endures,

Through every land will sing.

Go, build like this: from the quarries vast

The precious stones reveal;

There's many a block

In the matrice-rock,

Will honor your fabrics well;

There's many a beam

By the mountain stream,

Will honor your fabrics well.

Go, build like this: divest with skill

Each superfluity;

With critic eye

Each fault espy —

Be zealous, fervent, free;

By the perfect Square

Your work prepare —

Be zealous, fervent, free.

Go, build like this: to a fitting place

Raise up the Ashlars true;

On the trestle-board

Of your Master's Lord,

The grand intention view;

In each mystic line

Of the vast design,

The grand intention view.

Go, build like this: and when exact

The joinings scarce appear,

With the trowel's aid

Such cement spread,

As time can never wear;

Lay thickly round

Such wise compound

As time can never wear.

Go, brothers; thus enjoined, farewell;

Spread o'er the darkened West

Illume each clime

With art sublime —

The noblest truths attest;

Be Masters now;

And, as you go,

The noblest truths attest!

Title: So Mote It Be
Author: Rob Morris

So mote it be with us when life shall end,
And from the East the Lord of Light shall bend;
And we, our six days' labor fully done,
Shall claim our wages at the MASTER'S throne.

So mote it be with us: that when the Square,
That perfect implement, with heavenly care
Shall be applied to every block we bring,
No fault shall see our MASTER and our King.

So mote it be with us: that, though our days
Have yielded little to the Master's praise,
The little we have builded may be proved
To have the marks our first Grand MASTER loved!

So mote it be with us: we are but weak;
Our days are few; our trials who can speak!
But sweet is our communion while we live,
And rich rewards the MASTER deigns to give.

Let's toil, then, cheerfully; let's die in hope;
The wall in wondrous grandeur riseth up;
They who come after shall the work complete,
And they and we receive the wages meet.

THE ROYAL ARCH MASON.

Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

O, weary hearts, so worn and desolate!
Torn from their native land, from ruined homes,
From desecrated shrines. 0, hapless fate!
Better the solitude of Judah's tombs
Than all that Judah's foemen can bestow.
In the far land, where tuneless waters flow,
Along the sad Euphrates, as they sigh,
"Jerusalem!" "Jerusalem!" they cry,
"When we forget thee, city of our love,
May He forget, whose city is above;
And when we fail to speak thy matchless fame,
May He consign us to enduring shame!"

0, joyful spirits, now so bright and free,
Amidst the hallowed palm-trees of the west!
No more the exiles' want and misery,
The tuneless waters and the homes unblest;
Remember Sion now, her ruined shrine,
And take each manly form, the work divine;
Plant the foundation-stone; erect the spire
That shall send back in light the eastern fire;
Set up the altar, let the victim bleed,
To expiate each impious word and deed;
And tell the nations, when to Sion come,
"The Lord is God; He brought His people home!"

LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE

Author: Rob Morris

"Let your light shine," the Master said,
To bless benighted man;
The light and truth my Word hath spread,
Are yours to spread again."

We come; 0 Lord, with willing mind,
That knowledge to display;
Enlighten us, by nature blind,
And gladly we'll obey.

Title: Resurrection
Author: Rob Morris

The Craft, in days gone by,
Drew from their mystery
The mightiest truths God ever gave to men;
They whispered in the ear
Bowed down with solemn fear,
"The dead, the buried dead, shall live again!"

0 wondrous, wondrous Word!
No other rites afford
This precious heritage, this matchless truth;
Though gone from weeping eyes,
Though in the dust he lies,
Our friend, our brother, shall renew his youth.

And we who yet remain,
Shall meet our dead again —
Shall give the hand that thrilled within our grasp
The token of our faith,
Unchanged by time and death,
And breast to breast his faithful form shall clasp.

But who, O gracious God,
The power shall afford?
Who, with omnipotence, shall break the tomb?
What Morning Star shall rise
To chase from sealed eyes
The long-oppressing darkness and the gloom?

Lo! at the mystic shrine
The answer-'tis Divine;
Lo! where the tracing-board doth plainly tell:
"Over the horrid tomb,
Its bondage and its gloom,
The Lion of the Tribe of Judah shall prevail!"

Then hopefully we bend
Above our sleeping friend,
And, hopeful, cast the green sprigs o'er his head;
'Tis but a fleeting hour —
The Omnipotent hath power,
And He will raise our brother from the dead.

Title: Hymn For Consecration
Author: Rob Morris

Lo, God is here! our prayers prevail;
In deeper reverence adore;
Ask freely now, he will not fail
His largest, richest gifts to pour.

Ask by these emblems, old and true;
Ask by the memories of the past;
Ask by his own great name, for, 1o,
His every promise there is cast!

Ask WISDOM,'tis the chiefest thing;
Ask STRENGTH, such strength as God may yield;
Ask BEAUTY from his throne to spring,
And grace the temple as we build.

Lord God most High, our Lodge we veil!
'Tis consecrate with ancient care;
0, let thy Spirit ever dwell,
And guide the loving builders here!

Title: Search The Scriptures
Author: Rob Morris

O, early search the Scriptures! 'tis the dew

On morning leaves; 'tis the young rose's bloom;

'Tis the bright tinge of morning; 'tis the hue

That doth on cheek of conscious virtue come;

'Tis all that gratifies the sight,

To see this sacred Book aright.

O, fondly search the Scriptures! 'tis the voice

Of loved ones gone forever; 'tis the song

That calls to memory childhood's perished joys

'Tis the blest anthem of the angel-throng;

'Tis all that gratifies the ear,

This sacred Book aright to hear.

0, deeply search the Scriptures! 'tis the mine

Of purest gold and gems of richest sort;

'Tis life's full sustenance of corn and wine;

'Tis raiment, clean and white, from heaven brought;

'Tis wealth beyond all we can crave,

This sacred Book aright to have.

For here, 0 here, the loved departed!

The Man of Sorrows, slain for us,

Speaks to the worn and broken-hearted,

And tells us, "I have borne the curse!

Redeemed thee from the power of death,

And sanctified thy parting breath."

That in bright worlds, depictured here,

Are "many mansions," ample room,

Where Christ our Savior waits to cheer,

And bid us welcome from the tomb:

Where many a friend we counted lost,

Is singing with the heavenly host.

This is the one, the appointed way,

Through which the Holy Ghost doth speak;

0, walk therein, through life's brief day,

And treasures of salvation seek;

Assured there is no other ford

Through Jordan's billows save THE WORD.

Excerpt from "Jerusalem, My Happy Home" Author: Joseph Bromehead

Jerusalem! my happy home!
O, how I long for thee!
When shall my sorrows have an end?
Thy joys when shall I see?

Title: Royal Arch Song
Author: "A Companion"

Joy, the Sacred Law is found:
Now the Temple stands complete;
Gladly let us gather round
Where the Pontiff holds his seat.

Now he spreads the volume wide,
Opening forth the leaves to-day;
And the Monarch by his side
Gazes on the bright display.

Joy, the Secret Vault is found;
Full the sunbeams fall within,
Pointing darkly under ground,
To the treasure we would win.

They have brought it back to light,
And again it cheers the earth;
All its leaves are purely bright,
Thriving in their newest worth.

This shall be the sacred Mark
Which shall guide us to the skies;
Bearing like a holy Ark
All the hearts who love to rise.

This shall be the Corner-stone
Which the builders threw away,
But was found the only one
Fitted for the Arch's stay.

This shall be the Gavel true,
At whose sound the crowd shall bend,
Giving to the Law its due;
This shall be the faithful friend.

This the Token that shall bring
Kindness to the rich and poor;
Hastening on, on angel's wing,
To the lone and darksome door.

This shall crown the mighty Arch
When the Temple springs on high,
And the Brethren bend their march
Wafting Incense to the sky.

Then the solemn strain shall swell
From the bosom and the tongue,
And the Master's glory tell
In the harmony of song.

Here the exile, o'er the waste
Trudging homeward shall repose;
All his toil and danger past,
Here his long sojournings close.

Entering through the Sacred Veils
To the holy cell he bends;
Then, as sinking nature fails,
Hope in glad fruition ends.

Title: The Olden Time
Author: Rob Morris

Give me the Faith my fathers had,
When home-worn ties were cast,
In stern contempt, forever back,
Like chaff upon the blast.
These prayers, lip-measured, leave me chill,
As icy fount sends icy rill;
No passion bidding nature start,
No fire struck out to warm the heart;
There's nothing left to make me glad,
Give me the Faith my fathers had.

A patriot now is bought and sold
For price; but give to me
The hopes that traced the hearts of old —
My fathers' Liberty.
What's fine-drawn speech and wordy war?
A candle-ray to freedom's star!
The hand to hilt, the sword abroad,
The flag to heaven, the heart to God,
These are the tokens I would see;
Give me my fathers' Liberty.

Give my fathers' walk below:
No artful mind was theirs,
To compass kindred hearts about
With treachery and snares;
No nets of artifice they spread
To lure the innocent to tread;
Life's blessings they so freely shared,
Life's fears they boldly met and dared;
A blameless life, a death sublime,
These were the things of olden time.

Give me the friendships that entwined
The upright trunks of yore,
The tendrils that so sweetly vined
In beauty and in power.
My heart is sad to think this earth,
With all its joy, with all its mirth,
Has lost the chain our fathers wove —
The chain of holy, holy love;
Has lost the path our fathers trod —
The path that led them up to God.

0, then, bring back the palmy days
Of innocence and truth,
When honesty was in its prime,
And selfishness in youth;
When man allowed to man his place,
When probity unbared its face,
When Justice poised an equal scale,
When faith sang through the dying wail;
Away, this age of care and crime —
Give me the days of olden time!

THE FAITHFUL REMEMBRANCE.

Author's Title: Pledge To A Dying Brother
Author: Rob Morris

We'll lay thee down where thou shalt sleep
All tenderly and brotherly,
And woman's eyes with ours shall weep
The precious drops of sympathy;
We'll spread above the cedar boughs,
Whose emerald hue and rich perfume
Shall make thee deem thy resting-place
A downy bed, and not a tomb.

That ———— breast which hath supplied
Thy wants from earliest infancy,
Shall open fondly and supply
Unbroken rest and sleep to thee;
Each spring the flower-roots shall send up
Their painted emblems toward the sky,
To bid thee wait upon thy couch
A little longer patiently.

We'll not forget thee, we who stay
To work a little longer here;
Thy name, thy faith, thy love shall lie
On memory's tablets bright and clear;
And when o'erwearied by the toil
Of life our heavy limbs shall be,
We'll come, and one by one lie down
Upon dear mother earth with thee.

There we will slumber by thy side;
There, reunited 'neath the sod,
We'll wait, nor doubt in His good time
To feel the raising hand of God;
To be translated from this earth,
This land of sorrow and cormplaints,
To the Celestial Lodge above,
Whose Master is the King of Saints!

THE MYSTIC WORD.

Author's Title: A Royal Arch Song
Author: J. F. Stanfield

When Orient wisdom beamed serene,
And pillowed strength arose,
When beauty tinged the glowing scene,
And faith her mansion chose,
Exulting hands the fabric viewed,
Mysterious powers adored,
And high the triple union stood
That gave the Mystic Word.

Pale envy withered at the sight;
And frowning o'er the pile,
Called murder up from realms of light,
To blast the glorious toil.
With ruffian outrage joined in woe,
They form the league abhorred,
And wounded science felt the blow
That crushed the Mystic Word.

Concealment from sequestered care
On sable pinions flew,
And o'er the sacrilegious grave
Her veil impervious threw;
The associate band in solemn state
The awful loss deplored,
And wisdom mourned the ruthless fate
That whelmed the Mystic Word.

At length through time's expanded sphere
Fair science speeds her way;
And warmed by truth's refulgence clear,
Reflects the kindred ray.
A second fabric's towering height
Proclaims the sign restored,
From whose foundation brought to light
Is drawn the Mystic Word.

To depths obscure the favored trine
A dreary course engage
Till through the Arch the ray divine
Illumes the sacred page:
From the wide wonders of this blaze
Our ancient signs restored,
The ROYAL ARCH alone displays
The long-lost MYSTIC WORD!

THE THIRD ORDER IN FREEMASONRY.

THE CRYPTIC DEGREES:

CONSISTING OF

THE ROYAL MASTER

AND

THE SELECT MASTER.

WHAT AFTER DEATH?

Author's Title: THE ROYAL MASTER.
Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

We can predict, from day to day,
Some things will meet us on life's way;
But who, of all that draw life's breath,
Can shadow what is after death?

When spring, awakes we look for flowers,
And leafy boughs and genial bowers;
The flowery spring rewards our faith;
What shall we look for after death?

When autumn spreads its sober skies,
With open laps we wait the prize;
We catch the showering fruits beneath;
What fruitage for us after death?

We trace the infant through each stage
Of youth, of manhood, and of age;
Each stage confirms our previous faith —
What grade awaits him after death?

Such the reflections of this grade;
Such question here is freely made;
Life's SECRET lies beneath, beneath,
'Tis only yielded after death!

Title: The Voice Of The Temple
Author: Rob Morris

The voice of the Temple the tidings of love,
That speaks of the Master who reigneth above;
His glory, His glory in the highest who dwells,
And Good-will to man, is the burden it tells.
Come, Brethren, in chorus,
Prolong the glad tidings,
No duty so sweet as the hymning of God;
His faith each professing,
His knowledge possessing,
Exalt each the blessing His grace hath bestowed.

Title: The Beacon-Light
Author: Rob Morris

A city set upon a hill
Can not be hid;
Exposed to every eye, it will
Over surrounding plain and vale
An influence shed;
And spread the light of peace afar,
Or blight the land with horrid war.

This ROYAL LODGE is planted so,
For high display;
It is a Beacon-light to show
Life's weary wanderers as they go
The better way;
To show by ties of earthly love,
How perfect is the Lodge above.

Be this your labor, ROYAL FRIENDS,
While laboring here;
Borrow from him who kindly lends
The heavenly ladder that ascends
The higher sphere;
And let the world your progress see,
Upward by Faith, Hope, Charity!

Title: A Thought Of Death
Author: Rob Morris

By the pallid hue of those
Whose sweet blushes mocked the rose;
By the fixed, unmeaning eye,
Sparkled once so cheerfully;
By the cold damps on the brow,
By the tongue, discordant now;
By the gasp and laboring breath,
What, 0 tell us, what is death?

By the vacancy of heart,
Where the lost one had a part;
By the yearlings to retrieve
Treasures hidden in the grave;
By the future, hopeless all,
Wrapped as in a funeral pall;
By the links that rust beneath,
What, 0 tell us, what is death?

By the echoes swelled around,
Sigh and moan and sorrow-sound;
By the grave that, opened nigh,
Cruel, yields us no reply;
By the silent King, whose dart
Seeks and finds the mortal part;
We may know, no human breath
Can inform us what is death!

But the grave has spoken loud;
Once was raised the gloomy shroud,
When the stone was rolled away,
When the earth in frenzied play
Shook her pillars to awake
Him who suffered for our sake;
When the veil's deep fissure showed
All the mysteries of God!

Tell us, then, thou sink of hope,
What is He that breaks thee up?
Mortal, from my chambers dim
Christ arose, inquire of him!
Hark unto the earnest cry,
Notes celestial make reply:
Christian, unto thee 'tis given —
Death's a passage unto Heaven!

AT MIDNIGHT AS AT NOON.

Author's Title: Select Master
Author: Rob Morris
[Part of the "Ladder of Nine Rounds" series.]

At midnight as at noon

The ancient worthies met:

The glances of the moon

Beheld those laborers late;

Nor till the glancing moon was high

Did any lay his Trowel by.

Each felt a weight of care,

A solemn charge o'erspread;

Each toiled in earnest there,

With busy hand and head;

And to the deep and faithful cave

These midnight craft a secret gave.

In whom the fire burns bright,

At midnight as at noon,

All secrets come to light

Beneath the glancing moon:

Nor till the glancing moon is high,

Must any lay his Trowel by.

Excerpt from "Palestine"
Author: Reginald Heber

Reft of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widowed Queen! forgotten Sion, mourn!
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne,
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone —
Where suns, unblest, their angry luster fling,
And way-worn pilgrims seek the scanty spring?
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy viewed?
Where now thy might, which all these kings subdued?
No martial myriads muster in thy gate:
No suppliant nations in thy temple wait;
No prophet-bards, thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song;
But lawless force and meager want are there,
And the quick, darting eye of restless fear;
While cold oblivion, mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dark wing beneath the ivy shade.

KING SOLOMON'S MIDNIGHT VISIT.

Author: Rob Morris

In a deep, rocky Cave great King Solomon lies,
Sealed up till the judgment from all prying eyes:
The Square on his breast, and his kingly brow crowned, ,br.His Gavel and Scepter with filletings wound;
At midnight, impatient, his spirit comes forth,
And haunts for a season the places of earth.

He flits like a thought to the chambers of kings;
To the plain where black battle has shaken his wings;
To the cave where the student his late vigil keeps;
To the cell where the prisoner hopelessly weeps:
But most where Freemasons their mystical round
Continue past midnight, King Solomon's found.

O, then when the bell tolls low twelve, do we hear
A rustling, a whispering startle the ear;
A deep solemn murmur, while Crafts stand in awe
At something the eye of a mortal ne'er saw;
We know it, we feel it, we welcome the King,
Whose spirit takes part in the anthem we sing.

And then every heart beats responsive and warm;
The Acacia blooms freshly, we heed not the storm;
Our tapers are starlit, and lo! from above,
There seems as descending the form of a Dove!
'Tis the Emblem of Peace that King Solomon sends,
To model and pattern the work of his friends.

His friends, loving brothers, when homeward you go
Bear Peace in your bosoms, let Peace sweetly flow!
In concord, in friendship, in brotherly love,
Be faithful, no emblem so true as the Dove;
The world will confess then, with cheerful accord,
You have met with King Solomon at midnight abroad!

Title: The Pillars Of The Porch
Author: Rob Morris

The old is better; is it not the plan
By which the Wise in by-gone days contrived
To bind in willing fetters man to man
And strangers in a sacred nearness lived?
Is there in modern wisdom aught like that
Which 'midst the blood and carnage of the plain
Can calm man's fury, mitigate his hate,
And join disrupted friends in love again?

No: for three thousand years the smiles of heaven,
Smiles on whose sunbeams comes unmeasured joy,
To this thrice-honored cement have been given,
This bond, this covenant, this sacred tie:
It comes to us full-laden: from the tomb
A countless host conspire to name its worth,
Who sweetly sleep beneath the Acacia's bloom
And there is naught like Masonry on earth.

Then guard the venerable relic well;
Protect it, Masters, from the unholy hand;
See that its emblems the same lessons tell
Sublime, through every age and every land:
Be not a line erased; the pen that drew
These matchless tracings was the Pen Divine:
Infinite wisdom best for mortals knew;
God will preserve intact the grand design.

Author Index
Mason	Author	Pages
†	Richard Blackmore	p.98
†	Joseph Bromehead	p.180
†	William Cowper	pp.111, 112, 115
†	Reginald Heber	p.253
	Rob Morris	50 poems (81%)
	Alexander Pope	p.112
	J.F. Stanfield	p.218
Unknown or uncertain
	Anonymous	p.76
	'A Companion'	p.197
†	Roman Catholic liturgy	p.99
	John Sherer (?)	p.114