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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'Twas in the evening twilight,
I saw her proudly stand,
The regiment was marching
To the playing of the band;
The tears were gently falling
From eyes that looked so true,
Her soldier boy was passing
With the others in review.
There was courage in her bearing
And devotion in her eyes,
Such pride and love o'erflowing,
Something more than worldly wise,
There seemed an inward surging
Of a trustful faith and hope,
Of a spirit knowing freedom,
That refused to blindly grope
Or bow to bloody tyrant,
Nor to servile state be broke,
For freeborn women never yet
Have suffered tyrants' yoke;
That head erect,
Could ne'er to shame be bowed,
The fire and pride within her eyes
Seemed to proclaim aloud,
My heart can ne'er be broken
By terror or by death,
The spirit still upsoaring
On the wings of freedom's breath;
A thousand years or more I've stood
Upon this land so free,
And now I give this son of mine
That freedom still may be;
For liberty,
truth and justice
Has been our watchword long,
Has been our theme and story,
Our glory and our song;
And none can take it from us,
Nor destruction,
bomb or fire
Can stay the stately melody
Which comes from freedom's lyre;
With fidelity and loyalty
Her bearing seemed to be
A tribute to all womanhood,
For all the world to see.
Within a passing moment
A vision bright I saw
Of gracious,
stately womanhood
That knew no other law
Than Right of Right and Truth of Truth Within the lowly cot Or stately mansion,
Whate'er their state or lot.
Our country then will flourish still,
No tyrant can despoil,
If cultured womanhood remains To guard her native soil.

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Last modified: November 23, 2013