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Ashlar Home > Poems > Rob Morris > The Master Cometh

The Master Cometh

By Rob Morris

When the Great Master comes to view his own,
Reclaim his Gavel, and resume his Throne
When through the Temple chambers rings the word
That Hiram and his willing Builders heard
What will he find? in all this Brotherhood,
Where thousands stand, where myriads have stood,
What will he find?

By many a grave, the acacia boughs beneath,
He will detect the tokens of our faith
The shining marble, and the humble stone,
Will the dead Mason's trust in triumph own.
The pointed Star, the Compass, Line and Square,
The acacia sprig will join in glory there
These will he find!

By many a happy fireside, he'll see
And bless the fruits of Masons' charity:
The orphan's tear to merry laughter turned
The widow's heart its cheerfulness has learned
Blest households, round which groups of angels stand
And guard unceasingly the cherished band
These will he find!

In many a Lodge, our Master's guest will find
The generous hand, large heart and cultured mind,
Engaged in toil, not upon walls of stone,
But squaring hearts for heavenly walls alone
Builders of house eternal, mystic Craft,
Whose work is worthy, Ashlar, Keystone, Shaft
These will he find!

Of every tongue on earth's extended bound,
In every land our Brotherhood is found
Rising to labor with the awakening East,
Sinking to slumber with the darkening West
Leading our sons as we ourselves were led
Laying in honored graves our quiet dead
These will he find!

Brothers! if here to-night our Chief were found,
If now, at yonder door, were heard the sound,
If, in the East, in Oriental hue,
Grand Master Solomon should meet the view,
What welcomes, loud and loyal, should he have,
Absent and mourned so long in Sion's grave?
Would it were so would it were mine to say,
Behold, O King, thy Brethren! Day by day
Through countless years, our sires blew up the flame
Of love fraternal for thy honored name!
And we, obedient sons, have fanned the light,
And done the labor as we do to-night.
Look 'round thee, Master! is there aught amiss?
Whence this mysterious image, this and this?
Who cast yon pillar with consummate cap?
Suggests this mournful emblem what mishap?
Look overhead! what golden arc is there,
Before which strong men bow as if in prayer?
What page is that, that lends unerring rays
To Mason groups who kneel and, reverent, gaze?

Brothers, we may not see him, but we'll bind
The tie he gave us with unfailing mind
His lessons, fraught with wisdom, we'll revere,
And keep his secrets with unwearied care
The poor and sorrowing over land and sea,
To willing ears shall make their piteous plea
The Holy Name we'll reverence and trust,
High over all, the Gracious and the Just
And when death's Gavel falls and we must go,
This epitaph shall speak the general woe:

Honored and blest, his heart was given
To feel for sorrow and to aid
On earth he made the unhappy glad,
His coming gives a joy to Heaven!
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