The Poetic Works of F. G. Tisdall
No Mason is he who is dead to the wailings
Of those whom misfortune has placed under ban
Who is harsh, unforgiving toward other men's failings,
Or does any act that debases the man.
He may seem a good brother in sight of his fellow,
Be high in his order and leam'd in its code
But still his pretentions are truthless and shallow,
And he is no Mason in sight of his GOD.
But he's a true Mason whose soul ever rises
Above the small honors and glories of earth
Who all the poor glitter of tinsel despises,
And loves to be measured alone by his worth.
With the Square and the Plumb-lead as emblems to guide him
From the line of strict duty he scorns to depart
Wlth the Rule and the Compass both ready before him,
He rears a true Temple of GOD in his heart.
His thoughts are as the snow when it falleth
His zeal if enlisted on rectitude's side
No fear of men's scoffing, his courage appalleth,
As he stands the oppressed and the friendless beside.
At the cry of misfortune his love is awakened
Large minded, he succors with naught of display
The widow, the orphan, the hungry and naked,
From his portals are never sent hungry away.
In precept though firm, he is soft as a mother,
Who seeks in affection her offspring to mold
More apt by example to win a lost brother,
And waverers keep in the GOOD SHEPHERD'S FOLD.
Unsullied by contact with lusts that surround him,
Large hearted, he loves with God like regard
He lives a rich blessing to all who are round him
And dies to receive the true Mason's reward.
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