Classic Poem

Hark, 'tis the voice of the long-parted years!
An hundred generations, joining tongues
From every land to swell the choral song,
While angels bear it to the throne of God.

Where'er the patient dead lie waiting for
The Resurrection trump, their very graves
Are vocal with thy imagery divine,
That speaks the language of Freemasonry.

The living, loving groups in mystic round,
Whisper those words their fathers knew and loved;
While kindled eye and burning heart confess
That time but strengthens thee, Freemasonry.

Hark, 'tis the voice from vanished years, deep-toned
Like some cathedral chant, sounding the depths
Of human feeling, and awakening all
In one grand chorus to the God of love.

Hear it, ye nations! still the clash of arms!
The blood-flow stanch! no longer brothers' hands
'Gainst brothers' hearts be raised! but heed the voice
That speaks the Common Father of us all.