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A Mason's Birthday

By Wilbur D. Nesbit

Today you turn another page
In Life's long book of verse and prose,
And added to your craftsman's wage
This wish of mine with friendship glows.
One day you'll reach the easy slope
Which idles down the twilight hill --
Strong with the Promise and the Hope
May your days all be gladder still.

Time turns his hourglass once again;
The sands in an unceasing stream
Fall just as swiftly now, as when
Youth's sunshine held them with its gleam.
Life has its seasons, as the year
Turns softly on from day to day;
Ere we may sense it, change is here;
No hour may, save in memory, stay.

Life is at noon -- yet well we know
That we may live the hours agone,
That even shades of dusk may show
The glints of every olden dawn.
And you, whose birthday is a time
For us to think of all we've had
From you -- we send to you this rhyme
To wish you all that's good and glad.

Today you turn another page
In life's long book of verse and prose
And added to your craftsman's wage
This wish from all your Brethren goes:
That joy shine with the sun by day
And peace glow with the stars at night,
And that forever on your way
You fare beneath the one great Light.



A Day of Thanksgiving

By Wilbur D. Nesbit

We are traveling East, my Brother, whenever in gratefulness
We think of the things that every day brings our lives and our homes to bless.
We are finding the path, my Brother, though frugal may be our feast,
If the good that we knew is the good that we do -- Ah, then we are traveling East.

We are learning the Work, my Brother, whenever, with kindly aim
We lighten the care and our plenty we share with the poor and the halt and lame.
We are speaking the Word, my Brother, and finding our joys increased,
When we can bring cheer to replace a child's tear -- Ah, then we are traveling East.

We are bringing the Light, my Brother, whenever we greet a friend,
Whenever we lift a poor soul gone adrift, or one in distress defend.
We are marking the Way, my Brother, when through us has sorrow ceased,
When something we've said to a lone heart has sped -- Ah, then we are traveling East.

We are traveling East, my Brother, whenever in thankful mood
We pause for a day to think and to pray, to set forth our gratitude.
The Word, the Work, my Brother, through ages have never ceased --
With the Word that is true and the Work we can do, Ah, then we are traveling East.



Make Me Mellow

By Douglas Malloch

Some would have Spring within the heart.
But I some mellow month in mine
Like old October! Flowers depart,
And even youth must resign --
But always, brothers, there are some
To whom no Winters ever come:
Always October skies are theirs,
Even amid life's wintry cares.

And I would have my soul look the same:
I cannot keep the look of youth,
But how October maples flame --
Age takes our beauty, gives us truth,
Age takes our with and makes us wise,
Age gives us life's October skies
And old October's mellower days,
A better time a thousand ways.

God make me mellow! Make me not
Sudden as Summer, brief as Spring.
I would not blow too cold, too hot,
I would keep kind through ev'rything.
I may give others less than flow'rs
Of flattery, but in their hours
Of grief, of trouble and of need
May I bring rather fruits to feed.



The Masonry of Spring

By Douglas Malloch

Men say, "How wonderful is Spring!"
I say, "How marvelous is man!"
For Spring no more can gladness bring
To earth than men to mortals can.
The Springtime sun is very good,
But, oh, the smile of brotherhood!
And green the grass upon the slope,
But lovelier some word of hope.

There is a Masonry of earth,
Of sun and blossom, seed and rain;
The only Masonry of worth
Is one that brings the Spring again,
Brings strength to brothers sore beset,
And faith to brothers who forget;
Like sun to blossom, rain to seed,
Are men who come to men in need.

A great fraternity is ours
Who really see and understand,
A brotherhood of hearts and flow'rs
And smiling sun and stretching hand.
We, too, may bloom in our own way,
Make glad some other mortal's day,
As much as any birds that sing
In God's great Masonry of Spring!



April in the Blue Lodge

By Wilbur D. Nesbit

The world is in the Blue Lodge the waking April days;
The azure sky is bending above the blossomed ways.
The winter, tough and rugged, has all been swept away --
The world is in the Blue Lodge with every April day.

'Tis more than any poem, that ever yet was penned --
This lesson brought with April to you and me, my friend.
Spring waxes into summer and autumn comes again,
But there are other Aprils with sunniness and rain.

We see the meadows wither, we see the flowers fade,
We see the snow come drifting above the hill and glade;
And yet we know that April will bring the bees and birds,
As truly as a promise set down in age old words.

The world is in the Blue Lodge, the rounding sky its dome;
The orchards in the breezes now toss their blossom-foam.
The Master of good workmen bids all the earth to say
The world is in the Blue Lodge with every April day.



The leaves are all gone,
and the trees are bare.
Winter's yet to come,
but we don't care.

Season to season,
we watch things grow.
We look to the future,
with places to go.

We've been to the South,
the West and the East.
It's now time to pause,
and to have some peace.

Our work is not done,
we did what we could.
But now we teach others,
the way that we should.

We must live our lives,
from young and to older.
'cause' We know that God,
looks over our shoulder.




The morning light is breaking, Lord
Another day is here,
Life's problems must again be met
With heart and vision clear.

Strength for today I ask, Dear Lord,
Strength only for today
Renew my faith, my hope revive
Illuminate my skies of gray.

For yesterday is past, Dear Lord,
Tomorrow I may never see,
Today alone lies in my grasp
To use or lose for eternity.

Help me to lend a helping hand,
To dry the fallen tears,
To give to all whose life touch mine
Some comfort or good cheer.

Help me to sink my poor weak self
With it's longings, hopes, and fears,
In service to my fellowman,
Battling thru this vale of tears.

Just for today, day by day
Courage and strength I pray,
Garnering the good, forgiving the wrong,
Til I've lived my last today.





Whatever your cross,
whatever your pain,
There will always be
sunshine after the rain.

Perhaps you may stumble,
perhaps even fall,
But God's always ready,
to answer your call.

He knows every heartache,
sees every tear,
A word from His lips.
can calm every fear.

Your sorrows may linger,
throughout the night,
But suddenly vanish,
at dawn's early light.

The Savior is waiting,
somewhere above,
To give you His grace,
and send you His love.

Whatever your cross,
whatever your pain,
God always sends rainbows,
after the rain.



By Pat M. Armstrong

Today at the drugstore, the clerk was a gent.
From my purchase this chap took off ten percent.
I asked for the cause of a lesser amount;
And he answered, "Because of the Seniors Discount."

I went to McDonald's for a burger and fries;
And there, once again, got quite a surprise.
The clerk poured some coffee which he handed to me.
He said, "For you, Seniors, the coffee is free."

Understand--I'm not old--I'm merely mature;
But some things are changing, temporarily, I'm sure.
The newspaper print gets smaller each day,
And people speak softer--can't hear what they say.

My teeth are my own (I have the receipt.),
And my glasses identify people I meet.
Oh, I've slowed down a bit . . . not a lot, I am sure.
You see, I'm not old . . . I'm only mature.

The gold in my hair has been bleached by the sun.
You should see all the damage that chlorine has done.
Washing my hair has turned it all white,
But don't call it gray . . . saying "blond" is just right.

My car is all paid for . . . not a nickel is owed.
Yet a kid yells, "Old duffer . . . get off of the road!"
My car has no scratches . . . not even a dent.
Still I get all that guff from a punk who's "Hell bent."

My friends all get older . . . much faster than me.
They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see.
I've got "character lines," not wrinkles . . . for sure,
But don't call me old . . . just call me mature.

The steps in the houses they're building today
Are so high that they take . . . your breath all away;
And the streets are much steeper than ten years ago.
That should explain why my walking is slow.

But I'm keeping up on what's hip and what's new,
And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo.
I'm still in the running . . . in this I'm secure,
I'm not really old . . . I'm only mature.




Author Unknown

Solemn strikes the funeral chime!
Notes of our departing time,
As we journey here below,
On a pilgrimage of woe.

Brothers, now indulge a tear,
For mortality is here!
See how wide her trophies wave,
O'er the slumbers of the grave.

Here another guest we bring,
Seraphs of celestial wing,
To our funeral altar come,
Waft a friend and brother home.

Lord of all, below, above,
Fill our hearts with Truth and Love.
As dissolves our earthly tie,
Take us to Thy Lodge on High.



Charles L. Mead 33
Boynton Lodge #236

Can you say tonight in parting
with the day that's slipping past
That you helped a single brother
of the many that you passed?

Is a single heart rejoicing
over what you did and said?
Does the man whose hopes where fading,
Now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day or lose it,
Was it well or poorly spent?
Did you leave a trail of kindness,
Or a scar of discontent?

As you close your eyes in slumber,
Do you think God will say,
You have earned one more tomorrow,
By the work you did today