Classic Poem

With true and ardent grasp,
A strong and mystic clasp.
In fond farewell the Mason monarchs bent;
Briefly upon the tongue
The word of parting hung,
But hand and eye and face were eloquent.

The servant of the Lord
Gave them a parting word;
From mouth to ear the whispering farewell passed;
The world can never know
That sound, conveyed so low,
But 'tis the Mason's fondest and his last.

Hand answered hand, and tongue
Moved the Great Word along;
It kindled up each Mason's bosom there, —
As you have seen the rain
Moistening the barren plain
And making green the hillocks, fately bare.

It banished all the pain
Of parting from those men;
It left a glow fraternal in each breast;
And though no brother's eye
Beneath its power was dry,
Their tears were holy dewdrops, soft and blest.

And then, all silently
The Builders moved away,
And turned forever from the Mount of God;
But never to the end
Did friend forget the friend
Who wept that farewell morning 'neath the Word.

And never to this day,
And never while the sway
Of time shall roll the mighty spheres around,
Can one who owns the tie
Of holy Masonry
Refuse to melt before that mystic sound.