Classic Poem

How many a strong right hand that grappled ours
In truest faith;
How many a generous heart, with mercy filled,
Lies low in death!
How many a beaming eye, that caught the light
From the better shore;
How many a tongue that thrilled our inmost chords
Will speak no more!
How many a seat where sat the good and true
Is vacant now!
How many a foot in mercy's quest that flew
No more shall go!
How many a knee that bent with ours in prayer,
Or prayed alone,
Has vanished from our mystic brotherhood,
And gone — and gone —
To the Celestial Lodge, the Land of Peace,
And Light, and Song,
Where war and bloodshed have no entering,
Nor vice, nor wrong!
Where the Supreme Grand M ASTER wise presides,
No blight, nor curse,
And keeps, in holy welcome, crowned and blest,
A place for us!

The will of God is done —
Their mortal race is run —
Beneath the circling sun
They're seen no more;
Their bright and genial word
Can never more be heard
On earthly shore.
Remains there naught of them except the dust
Wherewith is mingled Masons' dearest trust.

Oh, brave and true, farewell!
Though south winds make your knell,
And sprigs of cypress fell
Upon your grave —
In memory shall abide
The gallant ones who died
Our land to save;
No better place to die beneath the sun,
No better time than where our duty's done.