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Ashlar Home > Poems > Rob Morris > The Decayed Lodge

The Decayed Lodge

By Rob Morris

These walls are tottering to decay,
There's dampness on the stair
But well I mind me of the day
When two score men met here
When two score Brothers met at night,
The full, round moon above,
To weave the mystic chain of light
With holy links of love.

But now the lightest of the train
In early grave is bowed
The chain is broke, the holy chain,
The Master's with his God!
The wailing notes were heard one day,
Where cheerful songs are best,
And two score Brothers bore away
Their Master to his rest.

The South, that pleasant voice, is still,
That spoke the joys of noon
The West, that told the Master's will,
Has set, as sets the sun.
The sun may rise, may stand, may fall,
But these will stand no more,
No more the faithful Craft to call,
Or scan their labors o'er.

I'll weep the rending of this chain,
As Jesus wept His love!
This haunted spot! what shall restrain
The tears these memories move?
Where two score Brothers met at night,
There's solitude and gloom
Let grief its sacred train invite
To this old haunted room.
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