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THE PURSUIT OF FRANKLIN.

When Dr. Kane, the Arctic navigator, left New York in search of Sir John Franklin, he set the Masonic Square and Compass in large characters upon his foresail. He visited a Lodge in Newfoundland at his brief call there. The flag taken and left, by his orders, nearest the North Pole, was the Masonic flag. It was an incentive to the zealous search made by our intrepid countrymen, that Franklin was reported to be a Freemason.

The following lines were written in 1853, upon his setting out upon his philanthropic errand. It is needless to say, however, that the writer's prediction failed in its fulfillment.

Midst polar snows and solitude,

Eight weary years the voyager lies,
Ice-bound upon the frozen flood,

While expectation vanishes;

Ah! many a hopeless tear is shed.

For Franklin, numbered with the dead!

Midst joys of home, and well earned fame,

Young, healthful, honored, there is one

Who pines to win a nobler name,

And feels his glory but begun;
His heart is with the voyager, lost
Midst polar solitude and frost.

The voice from off the frozen flood
Appeals in trumpet tones for aid;
'Tis heard, 'tis answered,- swift abroad
The flag is hung, the sail is spread;
That sail on whose pure face we see
Thy symbol, honored Masonry!

Away, on glorious errand, now,

Thou hero of a sense of right!

Success be on thy gallant brow,

Thou greater than the sons of might!
Thy flag, the banner of the free,
Oh, may it lead to victory!

Is there some chain of sympathy

Flung thus across the frozen seas?

Is there some strange, mysterious tie,
That joins these daring men? — there is!
This, honored, healthful, free from want,
Is bound to that in COVENANT!

For though these twain have never met,

Nor pressed the hand, nor joined the heart, In unison their spirits beat,

Brothers in the Masonic art; One, in the hour of joy and peace,One, in the hour of deep distress.

And by the SYMBOLS, best of those

Time-honored on our ancient wall,
And by the prayer that ceaseless flows,
Upward from every Mystic Hall,-
And by thine own stout heart and hand,
Known, marked, and loved in every land,-

Thou shalt succeed,- his drooping eye

Shall catch thy banner, broad and bright,That symbol he shall yet descry,

And know a Brother in the sight! Ah, noble pair! which happier then,

Of those two daring, dauntless men?

INSCRIPTIONS FOR A LODGE ROOM.

EAST.

Erect before Thee,

A hand upon Thy WORD,

We thus adore Thee,

And swear to serve Thee, Lord!

WEST.

So mote it be-each murmuring word
Speaks the soul's earnest, deep accord,

And echoes, from its inmost sea,
A deep AMEN, SO MOTE IT BE!

SOUTH.

Ye faithful, weave the chain !

Join hand in hand again!

The world is filled with violence and blood!

Hark to the battle cry!

Hark to the answering sigh!

Come weave the chain admired of man and God!

GO ON THY BRIGHT CAREER.

Go on thy bright career, brave, faithful heart,
Prayers of the faithful every step attending;
Go spread the triumphs of the MYSTIC ART,
Wherever knee to DEITY is bending;
Raise up the landmarks, long in rubbish hidden;
Rear high the Altar on Moriah's brow;

Denounce all teachings by our rites forbidden,

And LIGHT, MORE LIGHT, on yearning hearts bestow.

Crush all things that obstruct the cause of truth;
How grand, how noble is the sacrifice!
How worthy of the brightest dreams of youth,

To build a HOUSE like that within the skies!
Oh, when we lay thee, mourned-for, 'neath the sod,
And cast the green and fragrant bough of faith,
How cheerful can we give thee to thy God

Whose works defy the utmost power of death!

PRAYER-ORAL OR SECRET.

There is a prayer unsaid

No lips its accents move;

'Tis uttered by the pleading eye

And registered above.

Each MYSTIC SIGN is prayer,

By hand of Mason given;
Each gesture pleads or imprecates,
And is observed in Heaven.

The deeds that mercy prompts,

Are prayers in sweet disguise;
Though unobserved by any here,
They're witnessed in the skies.

Then at the altar kneel

In silence make thy prayer;

And HE whose very name is Love
The plea will surely hear.

The darkest road is light—

We shun the dangerous snare,
When heavenly hand conducts the road
Responsive to our prayer.

THE DEATH OF THE GRAND MASTER.

CRAWFORD, Grand Master of Maryland, died under the affecting circumstances here described:

66

His voice was low, his utterance choked,

He seemed like one in sorrow bound,
As from the ORIENT he invoked

God's blessings on the Masons round.

'Tis sad to see the strong man weep-
Tears are for sorrows yet untried;
But who with sympathy can keep,

When age unseals emotion's tide?

Reverently stood the Brothers round,

While their Grand Master breathed farewell,

And strove to catch the faintest sound

Of accents known and loved so well.

He told them of the zealous care

Of their forefathers of the Art;
How valley-gloom and mountain-air
Bore witness of the faithful heart.

He conned the precepts, line by line-
Oh, that the Craft may ne'er despise
Precepts so precious, so divine,

That shape the Mason mysteries!

He warned them of a world unkind,
Harsh to the good, to evil mild,
Whose surest messengers are blind,
Whose purest fountains are defiled.

He told them of a world to come,
To which this life a portal is,
Where tired laborers go home,

To scenes of never ending bliss.

Then of himself he humbly spoke

So modestly! so tenderly!

While from the saddened group there broke
An answering sigh of sympathy:

'Now give me rest; my years demand
A holiday, Companions dear!

My days are drawing to an end,
And I would for my end prepare.

"Now give me rest; but when you meet,
Brothers, in this beloved spot,

My name upon your lips repeat,
And never let it be forgot!

"Now unto God, the Mason's FRIEND, The GOD our emblems brightly tell, Your dearest interests I commend

Brothers, dear Brothers, oh, farewell!"

Down from the Orient, slowly down,

Weeping, through that sad group he passed, Turned once and gazed, and then was gone. That look his tenderest and his last.

` His last-for, ere the week had sped, That group, with sorrow unrepressed, Gathered around their honored dead

Bore their Grand Master to his rest!

THE PYRAMID OF CHEOPS.

Not useless: cold must be the heart
Can linger here in critic mood,
And fail to recognize the good,
And look and sneer, and so depart.

Not useless: were it but to prove
What aspirations are in man;
Almost divine this mighty plan-
Almost an impulse from above.

Not useless: were it but to stir

The sense of awe within the breast;
What grandeur does the pile attest!

Is it a mortal's sepulcher?

Not useless: no; while life abide,

The measure of the soul, to me,

Its utmost stretch of thought shall be

My memories of the Pyramid!

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