Father's Lodge By Bro. Douglas Malloch
Father's lodge, I well remember, wasn't large as lodges go, There was trouble in December getting to it through the snow. But he seldom missed a meeting; drifts or blossoms in the lane, Still the Tyler heard his greeting, winter ice or summer rain.
Father's lodge thought nothing of it: mid their labors and their cares Those old Masons learned to love it, that fraternity of theirs. What's a bit of stormy weather, when a little down the road, Men are gathering together, helping bear each other's load?
Father's lodge had made a village: men of father's sturdy brawn Turned a wilderness to tillage, siezed the flag, and carried on, Made a village, built a city, shaped a country, formed a state, Simple men, not wise nor witty- humble men, and yet how great!
Father's lodge had caught the gleaming of the great Masonic past; Thinking, toiling, daring, dreaming, they were builders to the last. Quiet men, not rich nor clever, with the tools they found at hand Building for the great forever, first a village then a land.
Father's lodge no temple builded shaped of steel and carved of stone; Marble columns, ceilings guilded, father's lodge has never known. But a heritage of glory they have left, the humble ones- They have left their mighty story in the keeping of their sons.