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 wintery 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 neighbor 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.





An old man lay sick in the Masonic Home.
His face was as wan as the white sea foam.
His eyes were dim, his hair was gray.
His back was bent with the trials of the way.
He faltering spoke, but I heard him say,
I'm ready for my last degree.

I've come to the end of the level time
That leads us all to the Grand Lodge sublime
From whose borne none ever return.
More light in Masonry there I shall learn
By an Alter where light shall evermore shine.
I'm ready for my last degree.

With the Apprentice's gauge,
I've divided my time
Into three equal parts since life's early prime.
And this I have found amidst life's turmoil.
My wages are due me, in Corn, Wine and Oil.
I'm ready for my last degree.

Each day from life's quarries, I've hewn a stone,
With the gavel I've shaped them, each one alone.
And shipped them along beyond that bright stand,
To build me a house in that great better land.
A spiritual house not made with hands.
I'm ready for my last degree.

I've squared each stone by the virtue square,
And plumbed them all true, as I shipped them there.
With the compass I've measured the Master's designs
And kept within due bounds, with his points and his signs.
My blue prints are folded; I've answered his signs.
I'm ready for my last degree.

The Mortar I've made, from friendship and love,
To be spread with the Master's trowel up above.
My apron is worn, but its surface is white.
My working tools now will be cold and quiet.
My Trestle Board's bare, and I'm going tonight.
I'm ready for my last degree.

A few moments later, the old man was dead.
And I fancy that I could see his soul as it fled,
Upward and onward, to the great door,
Where he gave an alarm, and a voice did implore.
The old man gave his answer with these words once more,
I'm ready for my last degree.

That night in a lodge, free from all strife and storm,
He took that degree his last in due form.
So may I live like he did; to build day by day,
A spiritual house, in that land far away.
So I, when I meet my Grand Master I can say,
I'm ready for my last degree.

- Author Unknown






Slow me down Lord, I am going too fast:
I can't see my brother when he's walking past.
I miss a lot of good things day by day;
I don't know a blessing when it comes my way.

Slow me down, Lord I want to see
More of the things that are good for me.
A little less of me and a little more of you,
I want the heavenly atmosphere to trickle through.

Let me help my brother when the going is rough:
When folks work together life isn't so tough.
Slow me down, Lord so I can talk
With some of your angels.
Slow me down to a walk.

Brother John G. Ottis






When the Master calls to order
And you look about the room
You're sure to see some faces
That from the shadows loom;

They are always at the meetings
And Stay ‘till they are through;
The ones that I would mention
Are the Always Faithful Few

They fill the vacant offices
As they are always on the spot,
No matter what the weather
Though it may be awful hot.

It may be dark and rainy,
But they are tried and true;
The ones that you rely on
Are the Always Faithful Few.

There are may worthy members
Who will come when in the mood,
When everything's convenient
They can do the Craft much good;

They have knelt around our altar
And are necessary, too;
But the ones who never fail us
Are the Always Faithful Few.

If it were not for these Brothers
Who put their shoulders to the wheel,
And keep our Lodges moving forward
So their light they may reveal,

The Craft could never flourish,
Its work it could not do,
It would shrink and slowly perish
But for these Faithful Few.






It was his dream to become a Mason
Though he wasn't sure quite why.
So he made an application,
Then waited months for a reply.

No committee came to pay a call
To meet him and his wife,
No invitation to Mason's Hall;
Nor offer of Advice.

Finally a postcard in the mail,
Said "Come Monday night at six,
And Bring us twenty dollars,
If you want to see our tricks."

He made the solitary journey,
And entered by the door,
But not one hand was offered,
As he slowly crossed the floor.

They fed him beans and hot dogs,
And a piece of apple pie,
Then led him to a little room,
With no explanations why.

The work was done with care and skill,
No one could argue that.
But, the candidate was forgotten,
As they patted themselves on the back.

He came to the lodge hall two more times,
And was raised to the third degree,
That was the last they saw him.
What could the trouble be?

They scratched their heads and wondered,
As again they cried and moaned.
"Our time has all been wasted ! "
"We should have stayed at home."

It seems to me that they've missed the point,
But they need to understand.It's not just how well you do the work,
It's how you treat the man.

R.W. Bro. Alan Heath




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