The Masonic Trowel

... to spread the cement of brotherly love and affection, that cement which unites us into one sacred band or society of brothers, among whom no contention should ever exist, but that noble emulation of who can best work or best agree ...

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I found within the quarries deep,
A stone which other hands designed,
And thought to use it as my own,
Rejoiced in this my timely find.
I had been taught to square my stones
By Masters,
guided through the years
The Gavel,
Level true,
I'd used with skill,
no need for fears
But this white stone which I had found Was neither oblong nor of square,
It seemed some craftsman had displayed Great skill to shape a form so rare.
I thought,
I'll take this stone,
Not shapen square,
but curious wrought,
And substitute it for my own,
For skill like this could not be bought.
What need have I to waste my time,
When here at hand is beauty rare,
My cunning hand some future day Will fashion one more wondrous fair.
I carried up my stone with care,
Thought to deceive the Master Mind,
Forgot He'd taught me how to square
And dress the stones which I had mined
And as I paused before Him there,
He scanned me with His gentle eye,
Then looked at me with pitying glance,
Nor spake a word as I passed by.
I knew He had my soul rebuked,
But still,
I thought I would repair And seek the wages I had earned,
By finding such a stone so fair.
But as I stretched my hand to take That which another should receive,
Again I felt that pitying glance,
My soul was shamed; could I deceive?
I could not take what was not mine,
And knew the reprimand was due,
Though deep within my heart the thought This stone would yet be brought to view.
A stone of beauty,
cunning wrought,
Amid the rubbish could not lie,
Its place in structure would be found,
A building it would beautify.
Again I wrought to square my stones,
While years sped on,
the building grew,
And as I laboured there alone,
Forgotten was the stone I knew.
At last the building was complete,
But no,
one stone was needed there,
Not square nor oblong,
curious wrought,
A stone of beauty,
wrought with care.
iGo ask—‑go seek—the Master cried. Search 'mid the rubbish and the silt,
But find you now the curious stone To bind the structure we have built.
At last 'twas found,
the missing stone,
Its beauty ne'er had been effaced,
Amid great scenes of wildest joy,
In centre of the Arch 'twas placed.
My stone,
the stone which I had found,
Rejected by the Craftsmen there,
At last had come into its own,
To bind a Temple wondrous fair.
As once again I stood before The Master,
though in humble guise,
No wages did I think to seek,
The years had taught me to be wise.
With kindly mien and smiling face He greeted me; I had been tried,
Reward enough,
my stone was there,
Rejected ? No.—GLORIFIED.

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Last modified: November 23, 2013