Masonic Poetry Page

Greetings Brethren , here is a small selection of Poetry I have gathered from contacts etc.


A Masonic Toast

To him that all things understood,
To him that found the stone and the wood,
To him that hapless lost his blood
In doing of his duty.
To that blest age, and that blest morn
Wherein those three great men were born,
Our noble science to adorn

With Wisdom, Strength and Beauty



Those men who help my dad each day,
They wear those mason rings.
A Square and Compass set in gold,
The praise of which I sing.

My dad, he hurt his back you know,
One cold and wintry day.
He slipped and fell upon the ice,
The insurance would not pay.

And since that time those rings I see,
On hands that help us much.
With mowing lawns and hauling trash,
Each day my heart they touch.

They even built a house for me,
Amid our backyard tree.
Where all the neighbour kids,
Would play with laughter full of glee.

My Mom she cried from happiness,
The time the Masons came.
To aid our family in distress,
Without a thought of gain.

And when I'm big,
just like my dad,
Of this it must be told.
I want to wear a ring like his,
A Square and Compass gold.

Long years have passed
  since when My dad was in that plaster cast.
And since I swore that Solemn Oath,
Which unites us to the last.

But more than that I'm proud to say,
I wear his Mason ring.
The one dad wore for many years,
Until his death this spring.

And one last time his comrades came,
To aid my weeping mother.
They praised and bid a fond farewell,
To our fallen Brother.

And after which MY son did ask,
About their Aprons white.
And of the rings upon their hands.
Of gold so shiny bright.

With tearful eyes I said with pride,
They're men of spirit pure.
Those men who wear those Mason rings,
Of that you can be sure.

And before he went to bed that night,
The family he foretold.
Someday I'll wear a ring like dad's,
A Square and Compass gold.


Ten Master Masons

Ten Master Masons, happy, doing fine;
One listened to a rumour, then there were nine.

Nine Master Masons, faithful, never late;
One didn't like the "Master", then there were eight.

Eight Master Masons, on their way to heaven;
One joined to many clubs, then there were seven.

Seven Master Masons, life dealt some hard licks;
One grew discouraged, then there were six.

Six Master Masons, all very much alive;
One lost his interest, then there were five.

Five Master Masons, wishing there were more;
Got into a great dispute, then there were four.

Four Master Masons, busy as could be;
One didn't like the programs, then there were three.

Three Master Masons, was one of them you?
One grew tired of all the work, then there were two.

Two Master Masons with so much to be done;
One said "What's the use?" then there was one.

One Master Mason, found a brother - true!
Brought him to the Lodge, then there were two.

Two Master Masons didn't find work a bore;
Each brought another, then there were four.

Four Master Masons saved their Lodge's fate;
By showing others kindness, then there were eight.

Eight Master Masons, loving their Lodge's bright sheen;
Talked so much about it, they soon counted sixteen.

Sixteen Master Masons, to their obligations true;
Were pleased when their number went to thirty-two.

So we can't put our troubles at the Lodge's door;
It's our fault for harming the Lodge we adore.

Don't fuss about the programs or the "Master" in the East;
Keep your obligation by serving even the very least.

Banquet Night

"ONCE in so often," King Solomon said,
 Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,
"We will club our garlic and wine and bread
 And banquet together beneath my Throne,
And all the Brethren shall come to that mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

"Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre,
 Felling and floating our beautiful trees,
Say that the Brethren and I desire
 Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.
And we shall be happy to meet them at mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

"Carry this message to Hiram Abif-
 Excellent master of forge and mine :-
I and the Brethren would like it if
 He and the Brethren will come to dine
(Garments from Bozrah or morning-dress)
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

"God gave the Hyssop and Cedar their place-
 Also the Bramble, the Fig and the Thorn-
But that is no reason to black a man's face
 Because he is not what he hasn't been born.
And, as touching the Temple, I hold and profess
We are Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

So it was ordered and so it was done,
 And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark,
With foc'sle hands of Sidon run
 And Navy Lords from the Royal Ark,
Came and sat down and were merry at mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less.

The Quarries are hotter than Hiram's forge,
 No one is safe from the dog-whip's reach.
It's mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge,
 And it's always blowing off Joppa beach;

But once in so often, the messenger brings
Solomon's mandate : "Forget these things!
Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings,
Companion of Princes-forget these things!
Fellow-Craftsmen, forget these things!"
Far out beyond those misty clouds, 
that veil the heavenly blue, 
the Master sits within the East, 
and checks on what you do.
So, as your daily tasks you do, 
prosaic though they be, 
the rule of plumb and square observe 
for all the world to see.
For when at last your day must end, 
your tools you lay away, 
'twill be how well your work was done 
on which he'll base your pay.
For when you rap upon that door, 
and seek to enter in, 
'tis only He can vouch for you, 
and free you from your sin.
No ritual learned can earn that place, 
o trappings, rich and rare, 
'tis heart and mind and love of man 
that grants you welcome there!
by James F. Sullivan, PM-69
From active Masons, resolute, 
Our wives and families we salute; 
We surely know the price you pay, 
Who sit alone while we're away.
No high degrees on you conferred, 
In Lodge, your name is seldom heard; 
You serve our cause though out of sight, 
While sitting home alone tonight.
Masonic papers list our names, 
Awards are given, fit to frame; 
But yours is who strive, 
To keep our fortitude alive.
You're part of every helpful deed, 
On your encouragement we feed; 
Without your blessings, how could we, 
Continue acts of charity?
And so, this poem, we dedicate, 
To every Master Mason's mate; 
And offer our undying love, 
Rewards await in Heaven above.



It is not ornamental, the cost is not great

There are other things far more useful, yet truly I state,

Tho’ of all my possessions, there’s none can compare,

With that white leather apron, which all Masons wear.


As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant,

When Dad hustled around and so much time was spent,

On shaving and dressing and looking just right,

Until Mother would say; "It’s the Masons tonight".


And some winter nights she said; "What makes you go,

Way up there tonight thru’ the sleet and the snow,

You see the same things every month of the year".

Then Dad would reply; "Yes, I know it, my dear".


"Forty years I have seen the same things it’s true,

And though they are old, they always seem new,

For the hands that I clasp, and the friends that I greet,

Seem a little bit closer, each time that we meet". 


Years later I stood at that very same door,

With good men and true, who had entered before.

I knelt at the alter and there I was taught,

That virtue and honour can never be bought.


That the spotless white Lambskin all Masons revere,

If worthily worn, grows more precious each year.

That service to others brings blessings untold

That man may be poor, though surrounded by gold.


I learned that true Brotherhood flourishes there,

That enmities fade ‘neath the Compass and Square.

That wealth and position are all thrust aside,

As there on the level, men meet and abide.


So honour the Lambskin, may it always remain,

Forever unblemished and free from all stain.

And when we are called to the great Fathers love,

May we all take our place in that Lodge up above.


by Charles Mackay

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might
In the days when the Earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers
And he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang "Hurra for the handiwork!
Hurra for the spear and sword!
Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"

To Tubal Cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire;
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade
As the crown of his desire.
And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,
And spoils of the forest free;
And they said, "Hurra for Tubal Cain,
Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire,
And hurra for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun,
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain for
The Evil he had done;
He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind,
That the land was red with the blood they shed,
In their lust for carnage blind.
And he said, "Alas! that ever I made,
Or the skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow-man."

And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;
And his hand forebore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smoldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,
And bared his strong right hand for work
While the quick flames mounted high!
And he sang, "Hurra for my handicraft!"
And the red sparks lit the air;
"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made!"
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands;
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands;
And sang, "Hurra for Tubal Cain!
Our staunch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough
To him our praise shall be;
But while oppression lifts its head,
Or a tyrant would be lord
Though we may thank him for the plough
We'll not forget the sword!"



The Tabernacle

By David Hamilton - 2000


When in the place of desolation I see

A colorful gate, always there, inviting me

Within the linen that surrounds the court

It is here I'm near the righteous port

Moving closer I encounter the altar

A wonderful place for all who falter

Here the blameless sacrifice ascends

Join the acceptance, of God who descends

An here, the fire of God is revealed

Consuming the sin so long concealed

Tis a place of death and of repentance

That man may rise, free from its sentence

Approaching the laver, as to the grave

Buried in water, arising to be saved

A priest passing through the door of grace

Dressed for service for His Holy Place

To the right a table of wood and of gold

On which is the bread, that never grows old

Eternally fresh is the sustaining Word

Life when eaten by those who have heard

Turning to the Light, the Lamp of Gold

Beautifully wrought, and made without mold

Gods decorative lampstand called the Menorah

Shining forth His glow, and His euphoria

Revealing walls of wood, overlaid with gold

And the beautiful tapestry, it must be told

The cherubim woven, their wings do hover

Under which all who enter, are protected by its cover

Before the veil, we now stand

The way is now open, for mortal man

The dividing veil is now rent

Thank God, for this cause, the Lamb was sent

Opening up the way to the throne of God

Into his presence, the Holy of Holies, we now trod

Oh the majesty and glory of it all

Before the Ark of His Covenant we must fall

For here in this room, is the throne of grace

It is here, God calls his secret place

A place not hidden from those within

Those God's washed and freed from sin

Here among God's holy objects

The truth now revealed, in this divine project

The house designed for all in shackle

Can only be God's perfect plan, "The Tabernacle"



Did I help or hurt today Lord,

Is anyone happier that I passed this way,

Will anyone remember that I spoke to them today

And when the day is over and toiling time is through

Will someone say a kindly word, for me – for you


I wonder can I say in parting

From a day that’s slipping fast,

Did I help a single Brother

From the many that I passed,

Is a single heart rejoicing

Over what I did or said,

Does someone whose hopes were fading,

Now with New Hope look ahead.


Did I win this day or lose it,

was it well or poorly spent,

Did I leave a trail of kindness,

Or a scar of discontent,

As I close my eyes in slumber,

To the Architect above I pray,

That I’ve earned one more tomorrow,

By the Good I Did Today.