Classic Poem

Two score and ten revolving years
Full charged with labors, sighs and tears,
The Craft have brought
Their tools, and wrought
Upon this temple old and vast,
A legend of the mighty past!
Now, Brothers, joyfully appear,
And celebrate our Fiftieth Y EAR !

One-half the century is spent,
But where the faithful ones who lent
Voice, heart, and hand,
A zealous Band,
To set aloft their Pillars twain
And dedicate the Holy Fane?
Not one is spared us to appear
And celebrate our Fiftieth Y EAR !

They sleep beneath th' Acacia green;
Their graves in solemn ranks are seen;
And at the head,
'Tis joy to read
The emblems full of hope and trust,
Which give a glory to their dust;
But yet, their names and lives are here
To celebrate our Fiftieth Y EAR !

What change has swept across this land
Since first their Gavels gave command!
It is our boast,
The countless host
Of Crafts, the living and the dead,
Where then a wilderness was spread;
In serried ranks our lines appear,
To celebrate our Fiftieth Y EAR !

Unchanged while all the world grows old,
We joy the ancient faith to hold,
Through centuries still
The task fulfill
That God intrusts to man below,
Freemasonry no change shall know!
Strike hands in this, ye Crafts, appear
And celebrate our Fiftieth Y EAR !

And when the century shall end
And over us th' Acacia bend,
The Craft will come
Within this home,
And speak our names with grateful thrill,
The loved, the unforgotten still;
In such belief, dear friends, appear
And celebrate our Fiftieth Y EAR !