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Ashlar Home > Poems > Rob Morris > Fredstole: The Seat of Peace

Fredstole: The Seat of Peace

By Rob Morris

Far away in the West, where the savage is straying,
His war path all gory, his visage begrimed,
Where man hates his fellow, betrayed and betraying,
And nature alone breathes a spirit sublime
There's a Fountain whose flow sweet as nectar inviteth,
Embosomed in hills such as Eden adorn
Each sip of its waters to Friendship inciteth
And Peace is the song that its song birds return.

There met, drops the Savage his hatchet and arrow,
There met, breast to breast, joins in fondest embrace
From the song birds the foemen sweet caroling borrow,
And war paint the waters wash out from each face
The hills smile around 'tis the approval of Heaven
Their light catches glances in every eye,
And speaks of a host of foul insults forgiven,
And pledges a Covenant that never can die.

The Lodge is a peace fount! come, Brothers, and taste it!
O'erflowing with sweetness, to you it is given!
A Rock its Foundation, what ages have placed it!
Its Covering, the starry-decked arches of Heaven.
Its Law, 'tis inscribed in yon holiest Volume
Its Chain, every link is the soul of a Man!
Behold on the right hand and left hand its Column!
Behold in the East is its marvelous Plan!
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