Are you
a Mason? Aye, I am! But stay
The mere
profession of its principles,
When
unsupported by the daily acts
Of duty
it involves, proves false the tale,
And
Truth, that attribute divine, the sure
Foundation of Masonic heritage,
Shrinks
back appalled at such a mockery,
Which,
like the barren fig tree, fair to sight,
Is but
the semblance of a fruitful tree.
"Faith without works is dead;"
Profession without practice,
dead, also;
A man's
a Mason only when he strives
To make
his practice quadrate with his creed.
What is
a Mason?
Symbol of a race,
Grand
and historic, 'neath whose steadfast hands
The
mighty fabric of the Temple rose,
Until in
beauty and strength it stood
Harmoniously proclaiming, God is
great!
Though-at the dictum of the power
to whom
'Twas
raised -overthrown and crumbled into dust,
With not
a fragment left to mark the place,
Or tell
the tale of its magnificence;
The art
survives, but not alone
In
perishable stone.
Through faith in God,
And hope
of immortality, we build
A
spiritual temple to His name;
Founded
on Truth and righteous Charity.
Oh,
glorious fellowship! Unshackled by
Mortal
interpretation of the word
Vouchsafed by God to man, we seek
the Truth
In Love,
the refulgent essence of all Truth,
Which is
of God alone, and God is Love.
He,
then, who takes the compasses in hand
To
circumscribe his daily life, will find
The
center in that Love to God expressed
In deeds
of charity and love to men.
