Classic Poem

" We meet upon the Level, " is the Senior Warden's word,
As he lifts his mystic column in the West, —
" We act upon the Plumb " — is the Junior's quick accord,
And to work the brothers hasten with a zest.
But the Gavel is my fancy
Over Level, Square and Plumb,
For it marks the very spirit of command,
In its ringing notes methodic
Every dissonance is dumb,
And a willing spirit hovers o'er the band.

" We part upon the Square " is the fiat of the East
When the hour of ten commands us to depart, —
And the Junior lifts his column, and the Tyler is released,
And we hurry to the welcome of the heart.
But the Gavel is my fancy,
I shall never cease to cry, —
'Tis Celestial music dropping to the earth;
'Tis a memory of the angels
As they heard it in the sky,
When the King from chaos called creation forth.

In the weird and mystic circle, solemn silence brooding round,
There's a something all invisible but strong,
Maybe summoned from the Highest by the Gavel's holy sound,
And it brings the better spirit to the throng.
Oh the Gavel , Master's Gavel ,
It shall ever have my praise
While the Book and Symbol whisper " God is love " ,
In His mighty N AME it speaketh,
All contention it allays,
Till the Lodge below is like the Lodge above.