Not brought to light! when from that Book,
That written Law by us adored,
Your dazzled glance its flight betook,
To yonder type that speaks of God.

Then shame on them, "the sons of Night,"
Thus blindly stumbling on their way,
Mistaking Masons' ancient Rite

For childish jest or senseless play.

Shame on "the blind who lead the blind";
Oh for an hour of HIM who drove
From temple courts the crowd that sinned,
And taught the law of Light and Love!

OH, PITY, LORD.

Oh, pity, Lord, the Widow; hear her cry!

Lonely her household lamp burns through the night, He who possessed her heart's young sympathy No longer lives, her portion and delight. She looks from earth, raises her heart on high,Pity, oh Lord, the Widow, hear her cry!

Oh, pity, Lord, the Orphan, hapless Child!

Father and mother mourning, view her tears;
Abandoned, lost upon earth's dreary wild,

What can relieve her anguish, what her fears?
Walking with Thee, the just, the undefiled,—
Pity, oh Lord, the Orphan, hapless Child!

Oh, pity, Lord, the Lonely! through the street
Of crowded life, no friendly face she sees;
Turn Thy face to her graciously, and greet

Her, Oh, blest Father, with the words of peace.
With Thee, Companion, solitude is sweet;
Oh, pity, Lord, the Lonely through the street.

Oh, pity, Lord, Thine own; each hath a care,
And we do lean in fondest trust on Thee!
Infinite mercy Thou canst justly spare,

For JESUS died and rose, our souls to free.
Father of Jesus, answer now our prayer,
Oh, Lord, on Thee we lean, each hath a care!

THE DRUNKARD'S GRAVE.

I stood beside the grave,

The last and dreamless bed; One whom I knew in other days

Lay there amidst the dead; His head toward the setting sun;

For O, his life and pilgrimage were done.

'Twas evening's pensive hour,

The rich and painted West

Had called earth's laborers,- weary ones,—

To home delights and rest;

Bird songs and voices of the day

Had melted all in evening's hush away.

Then came upon my soul

A rush of memories;

I seemed to see beside that grave

My friend of other days;

His beaming eye,- his generous hand,-
The largest, brightest, readiest of our band.

I seemed to hear once more

His voice so full and free,

My hand,- my heart,― my purse,— my life,

I give from me to thee!

The scalding tears my grief confest;

While night and darkness settled o'er the West.

For oh, I thought me then

Of all his sad decline;

He fell from honor's topmost height,

The victim of one sin!

Yes, he, the generous and the brave,

Lay there dishonored in a Drunkard's Grave!

Long years and hard he strove

Against the syren cup;

Wife, Children, Brotherhood combined.

To bear him kindly up,

And cheer him midst that mighty woe'

With which the unhappy drunkard has to do.

We plead by this and this;

We urged his plighted word;

We told him what a shameful tale

His story would afford;

We gathered 'round him all our band

And warned and threatened with stern command.

In vain; too strong his chain

Our cable tow too weak!

That cursed thirst had burned his soul,

He would no warning take;

He broke the heart that leaned on his,

And brought himself, at last, at last, to this.

Then homeward fled, amidst the gloom,
And left my Brother in the Drunkard's tomb!

THE VETERAN MASTER.

Worn, but not weary; stanch and true,
Again the Master's Gavel bear,
And standing in the Eastern gate

Display the bright and mystic Square.

Worn, but not weary; three score years

Have marked your brow with lines of care,

Yet beats your heart as warm's the day
When first you wore the mystic Square.

Worn, but not weary; when at last

The slumbers of the dead you share,

May you be happy in His love

Who wears in Heaven the mystic Square.

THE SPIRIT OF UNION.

In the settlement of long-pending difficulties among the Canadian Masons, the writer was called in, in July, 1858, with Philip C. Tucker, Grand Master of Vermont, to suggest proper terms of reconciliation. The pleasing task being performed, and the union complete, the following lines were read at a banquet that most agreeably terminated the meeting:

There never was occasion, and there never was an hour,

When spirits of peace on angel wings so near our heads did soar;
There's no event so glorious on the page of time to appear,

As the union of the Brotherhood, sealed by our coming here.

'Twas in the hearts of many, 'twas in the prayers of some,

That the good old days of Brotherly Love might yet in mercy come;

'Twas whispered in our Lodges, in the E. and S. and W.,

That the time was nigh when the plaintive cry our GOD would hear and bless.

But none believed the moment of fruition was at hand;

How could we deem so rich a cup was waiting our command?

It came like rain in summer drought, on drooping foliage poured,
And bade us look henceforth for help, in all our cares, to God!

The news has gone already upon every wind of Heaven;

The wire, the press, the busy tongue, the intelligence has given;
And everyone who heard it and who loves the Sons of Peace,

Has cried, "Praise GOD, the GOD of Love! may GOD this union bless!"

Vermont takes up the story,- her “old man eloquent,”

Long be his days among us, on deeds of mercy spent,-
He speaks for the Green Mountains, and you heard him say last night,
"Bless God that I have lived till now to see this happy sight!"

Kentucky sends you greeting,- from her broad and generous bound,
Once styled of all the western wild, "the Dark and Bloody Ground;"
She cries aloud, "God bless you! Heaven's dews be on you shed,
Who first took care to be in the right, then boldly went ahead !”

From yonder constellation, from the Atlantic to the West,
Where the great pines of Oregon rear up their lofty crest,
From the flowery glades of Florida, from Minnesota's plain,
Each voice will say, "Huzza! huzza! this Craft is one again!

Old England soon will hear it; not always will the cry
Of suffering Brothers meet her ear, and she pass coldly by;
There's a chord in British hearts vibrates to every tale of wrong,
And she will send a welcome and a Brother's hand ere long.

Then joyful be this meeting, and many more like this,
As year by year shall circle round, and bring you added bliss;
In quarry, hill, and temple, PEACE, nor cruel word or thought
Disturb the perfect harmony the gracious GOD has wrought.

But while your walls are thus compact, your cement strong and good,
Your workmen diligent and just, a mighty Brotherhood,
Remember, Brethren, o'er the earth, and on the raging sea,
How many a heart there is to-night that sighs, "Remember me!"

By the sign the world knows nothing of, but to our eyes so clear,—
By the token known in darkest hour, that tells a Brother dear,-
By the sacred vow and word, and by "the hieroglyphic bright,"
Remember all, the wide world round, who claim your love to-night.

TO THE SECRETARY.

Make thou the record duly,—
Our Mason life is there;
Make thou the record truly,

With close and anxious care.
The labors on the busy stage,―
At every step,- from age to age!

Make thou the record plainly,-
How oft does error lurk!
Herein our children mainly

Will read their fathers' work.
Herein will trace with joy or gloom
Our pathway to the closing tomb.

Make thou the record kindly,-
Omit the cruel words;

The Mason spirit blindly

A gentle shroud affords.

Oh, let thy record grandly prove
Freemasonry's a thing of love.

Make thou the record swiftly,

Time's scythe is sweeping fast;

Our life, dissolving deftly,

Will soon, ah, soon, be past.

And may a Generous Eye o'erlook
Our record in the Heavenly Book!