Classic Poem

TWO !

Now 'neath the heaving hillocks life descends;
Now bone to bone conjoins, the sinews knit;
The coursing blood its vermeil brightness lends;
The heart in rapture hastes again to beat;
Death and the worm are vanquished, and the grave,
Stripped of its horrors, seemeth but a bed
Where tired ones come and sweet reposings have,
And rise and go when eastern skies are red.

The Master joins his Craftsmen; and they link
Their trusty hands in friendship's farewell chain;
As deeming, while they stand upon the brink
Of Fate, that Brethren faithful should remain :
Nearer and nearer yet they gather in,
And one, a gray-haired veteran, holds up
A green sprig gathered from an aged pine,
Worn as memorial of Masons' hope.

What comfort now, that emblem of their faith!
They pass it round, they press it to the lip;
Its sacred hue has often mocked at death,
And lent new meaning to the Masons grip.
Nearer and nearer yet, till foot to foot,
And breast to breast, the moral builders stand,
While roar the unfettered elements without,
And shudderings disturb the solid land.

Now on the left there starts from out the wall
A shadowy hand . With occult character,
In light ineffable it fills the hall,
Flashing till human vision scarce can bear.
It writes, — and well the joyful group can read:
" You did it to the poor and the distressed;
Heaven's records show the generous word and deed, —
Enter, ye faithful, to the promised Rest ! "