Classic Poem

In the Lodge far away, where the work is completed,
The temple in glory, exalted, sublime,
And the Masons are met round the Grand Master seated,
In one grand accord swell the jubilant hymn:
" All hail, Master G RAND , from our labors terrestrial,
Thou raisest Thy workmen when labor is past!
All hail on Thy throne with a glory celestial,
Thy promise is sure, for we meet Thee at last,
Where the weary at rest have an ample reward,
And the praises we hear are the word of the L ORD ! "

For the Lodge far away now the spirit is yearning!
In low lands of sorrow we labor forlorn;
To the East, whence its sunrise, the eye will be turning;
We wait and we long for the coming of dawn.
We know we must pass by the fords of the river,
And nature will shudder in view of the grave;
But " the Strong Hand " we feel, and 'tis strong to deliver,
" The Lion of Judah " will conquer the grave,
And the weary at rest have an ample reward,
And the praises we hear be the voice of the L ORD ! "