Classic Poem

From the foamy billows won,
To the sands of Joppa thrown,
From the darkness of the salt, salt wave, —
In the cooling shadows brought,
With Masonic lessons fraught,
As we journey to the far-off grave.

O, the burning of the sun
When his middle course is run,
As the pilgrimage of life we haste!
But a sympathetic calm
In the cooling of the palm,
Is the glory of the weary waste.

As we tarry in the shade,
'Neath the drooping foliage laid,
How the grateful heart to God doth rise, —
Unto God, supremely good,
Who will crown the weary road
With the resting of the quiet skies.

Then, ye Pilgrims of the Shell,
Con the mystic lessons well,
With the Signet and the tie so blest, —
For the burning of the noon
Will be changed to glory soon,
And the Pilgrim find a long, long rest.

CHORUS .

For we journey o'er the dust,
In a fond and loving trust,
To the City where our dead are laid;
And we con the lessons well,
Mystic lessons of the Shell,
As we tarry, as we tarry in the shade.