The Model Mason

There’s a fine old Mason in the land, he’s genial, wise and true,

His list of brothers comprehends, dear brothers, me and you;

So warm his heart the snow blast fails to chill his generous blood,

And his hand is like a giant’s when outstretched to man or God;—

Reproach nor blame, nor any shame, has checked his course or dimmed his fame—

All honor his name!

 

This fine old Mason is but one of a large family:

In every lodge you’ll find his kin, you’ll find them two or three;

You’ll know them when you see them, for they have their father’s face,

A generous knack of speaking truth and doing good always;—

Reproach nor blame, nor any shame, has checked his course or dimmed his fame—

Freemason is their name!

 

Ah, many an orphan smiles upon the kindred as they pass;

And many a widow’s prayers confess the sympathizing grace;

The Father of this Brotherhood himself is joyed to see

Their works—they’re numbered all in Heaven, those deeds of charity!

Reproach nor blame, nor any shame, has checked his course or dimmed his fame—

All honor their name!

Robert Morris