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 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, 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 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 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