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!