The Master's Song.

A poem by George Pope Morris

Written for the freemasons of St. John's Lodge No. 1, New York.




Members of an order
Ancient as the earth;
All within our border
Realize its worth.
Genial is the greeting
That awaits us there,
On the level meeting,
Parting on the square.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

Masons never falter,
We each other know,
As around the altar
Hand in hand we go;
Loud hosannas singing
To our Source above,
And heart-offerings bringing
To the God of Love.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

There's a mystic beauty
In our working plan,
Teaching man his duty
To his fellow man:
As a band of brothers,
Ever just and true,
Do we unto others
As we'd have them do.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

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