Category Archives: Masonic

The Masonic Ring

Author Unknown

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 neighbours kinds,
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

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.

The Lodge Where I Belong

Author Unknown

Though my lodge may lack the splendour
Of a Temple or a Shrine,
Or possess the gaudy fixtures
That are classed as superfine,
Yet the fellowship it offers
Is a price beyond compare.
And I wouldn’t trade it ever
For life’s treasures, rich or bare!

The handclasp firm, the word of cheer,
Oh, such meanings they impart,
The mystic ties of brotherhood
That link us heart to heart!
You’d really have to travel far,
For the friendships quite so strong
As those one always finds right here
In the Lodge where I belong.

When all my earthly travels end,
And at last I’m borne to rest,
Where mortal hands no longer toil,
And I cease life’s endless quest,
Why, there’s nothing I’d like better,
Should I join the heavenly throng,
Than to meet with all the Brothers
Of the Lodge Where I Belong.

Lodge Widows

Morton Bennett

On Monday nights he grabs some grub
And off he goes to Fellowcraft club.

On Tuesday nights, alone she sits,
While he to Blue Lodge session flits.

She stays at home each Wednesday night;
He has to go to Scottish Rite

On Thursdays she’d go out to dine
But that’s his night for Mystic Shrine.

On Friday it’s, “Goodbye, my sweet,
Tonight Blue Lodge committees meet!”

On Saturdays he fades from view;
He has a coaching job to do.

And Sundays it’s Excuse me, please,
We’re practicing the three degrees.

For her the laggard moments crawl;
She never does get out at all.

But if there’s justice far or near,
When they have left this earthly sphere,

Somewhere out in the heavens far
She will preside o’er Eastern Star.

As richly gowned as any bride
A handsome Patron at her side,

Floral addenda every night,
And drill teams that do all things right.

Dining at rich repasts served late,
But never, never gaining weight.

While he, poor wretch, is chained at home,
No more the Temple courts to roam.

He has to dust and sweep the floors
And tend to all the household chores,

And care for sixteen dogs and cats
And half a dozen squalling brats!

If there’s a moral, this is it:
Wives, too, like to get out a bit.

So, hubby, here’s a tip for you:
You have to go to Lodge, that’s true;

But keep love’s bloom in wifey’s cheek,
And let her out — say, once a week!

Officers of the Lodge

Author Unknown

THE MASTER

The master of the Lodge should be
A man of high integrity
Working more than all the others,
A fine example to his brothers.
But if the lodge has no such man
They have to do the best they can.

THE WARDENS

The Warden’s chair is one of leisure,
Not much work but loads of pleasure.
The greatest labour seems to be
In gavelling occasionally.
A break before the Master’s Chair,
But very cosy while you’re there.

THE DEACONS

The deacons, with their wands held proud
Must walk erect and speak out loud.
And after each demanding session
Lead their peers out in procession.
Deacons hold the lodge’s fate,
For they can make a good one great.

THE TYLER

The Tylers’s place is as you know,
Outside the door, to keep out foe.
All tooled up with two-edged sword,
He’s not a man to be ignored.
“I’ll have the last word”, is his boast,
Referring to the tyler’s toast.

THE BRETHREN

The brethren of the rank and file
Relax and can afford to smile.
The festive boards they love the most
Are when they DON’T propose a toast,
With food and wine and genial talk
They’re happiest with a knife and fork

The Old Tyler

Thought to be from Light in Masonry

God Bless the Old Tyler! How long has he trudged?
Through sunshine and storm, with his summonses due;
No pain nor fatigue the Old Tyler has grudged
To serve the great Order, Freemasons, and you.

God Bless the Old Tyler! How oft has he led?
The funeral procession from Lodge door to grave;
How grandly that weapon has guarded the dead,
To their last quiet home, where Acacia boughs wave.

God Bless the Old Tyler! How oft has he knocked?
When, vigilant, strangers craved welcome and rest;
How widely your portals, though guarded and locked,
Have swung to the signal the Tyler knows best.

There’s a LODGE where the door is NOT guarded or tiled,
There’s a LAND without graves, without mourning or sin,
There’s a MASTER most gracious, paternal and mild,
And he waits the OLD TILER and bids him come in.

And there the Old Tyler, no longer OUTSIDE,
No longer with weapons of war in his hand;
A glorified spirit shall grandly abide,
And close by the Master, high honoured shall stand!

The Collection

Bill Jackman

The Lodge is closed, the Ode is sung
The Collection plates come round
Each brother puts his hand in his pocket
And most donate a pound.

It was just the same twenty years ago
When I first became a mason.
When will the brethren donate more?
To keep up with inflation

There is no rule as to how much to give
If you’re broke and cannot give any
We are satisfied if you just turn up
And don’t donate a penny.

But there are those who can afford to
And it’s to brethren with money we plead
Could you please donate a little more?
To satisfy charities’ need?

The Cork Degree

Author Unknown

You may climb the Mason’s ladder till you reach the highest point,
And in toiling slowly upwards rack yourself in every joint,
But I venture to inform you — if you’ve reached to Thirty three —
That the best of all the bunch is what is called the Cork Degree.

You ask me what it means! Well, sirs, it means just what it says;
You can booze yourself to blazes through a hundred happy days,
You may stop your dinner and your tea, and sell your knife and fork,
But you mustn’t venture out of doors without the Mason’s Cork.

‘Tis a circle and the centre that it holds is fellowship,
There are many signs and tokens which you well may give the slip,
So long as you do not forget that the Cork, to have its due,
Must have safely in its centre what it seldom lacks — a screw!

For that means the bottle’s open, and that drinks are going round,
And that Corkites are delighted with the whisky’s gurgling sound,
As it cluck, cluck, clucks in friendship’s name, and flows right merrily,
And thus maintains the glories of the almighty Cork Degree.

Then when heads are getting muzzy, and when eyes are getting faint,
And you’re free to fight your damndest with a devil or a saint,
If some kindly Christian soul enquires bow many moons you see?
You may bet your empty tumbler that he’s got the Cork Degree.

The Masonic Candidate.

By Bill Jackman

The candidate stands at the part open door
The light from this morning, he can see no more
He feels like a tramp, stripped of his clothes
His shirt is open, his chest is exposed

A prick at his breast makes his heart miss a beat
Is he, he wonders now, in far too deep?
All metal they’d taken, of money bereft
Too late now to ponder, told to lead with the left

He shuffles and stumbles as it’s very dark
A cough here, a sneeze a whispered remark
Reminds him of others who sit in the room
He wonders if they are sharing the gloom

A soft spoken voice demands if he
Is past twenty one years, and if he is free
A prompt in his ear demands he says yes
Then he kneels, and listens as he is blessed

Right turn, right turn, halt, once more

The Installation

W.Bro. Douglas A Chambers

Down the Lodge the Wardens strode,
and later joined in the opening ode,

One Warden south, one Warden west,
one column raised and one at rest,

The Lodge was opened in due form,
as is the Lodge of Union norm.

Then comes the work that you’ve rehearsed,
before the columns are reversed,

and in between your installation,
it’s your big night, our celebration.

We know you know the master’s word,
the sign, the grip, the token.
tonight a special prayer you heard
but naught of that be spoken.

You were proclaimed for all to hear,
All happened so fast, so swift,
You’re master of your Lodge this year,
The Lodge’s greatest gift.

We’re proud of you, we all feel great,
You represent Lodge Thirty Eight.

We sit, reflect, we’re well aware,
That your great night we’re here to share,

As you appoint and then invest,
The officers with whom you’re blessed,

As Masons, we don’t operate
and we can only speculate,

Ivan’s a ruler in the craft,
He’ll lead from forrard, never aft

remember well the grand design
that we are linked by badge and sign.

I ask you please enjoy your year
take heart from brethren gathered here,

they offer help, all that you need
support you as the Lodge you lead.

Please take all aid from each of them
especially from your I.P.M.

for like the book, there’s scarce a case,
that Liam’s never had to face.

There’s wisdom there, within your “Team”;
experience of Masonic scene.

Please mind the words in your address,
as through your year you do progress,

be happy in the work you do,
assisted by your Wardens true,

and when we clap you in to dine,
to feast with brethren and take wine,

I ask you, Ivan, pause to think,
as you with all the brethren drink,

Remember when they sound the bell,
That Duggie Chambers wished you well.