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Various Short Poems and Verses

 

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,
There are souls that are pure and true,
Then give to the world the best you have
And the best will come back to you.

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There's but one gift that all our dead desire,
One gift that men can give, and that's a dream,
Unless we, too, can burn with that same fire of sacrifice;
Die to the things that seem; die to the little hatreds;
Die to greed; die to the old ignoble selves we knew;
Die to the base contempt of sect and Creed,
And rise again, like these, with souls as true.
And that's not done by sword, tongue, or pen,
There's but one way God makes us better men."

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There is no Death. The stars go down
To Rise upon some fairer shore,
And bright in Heaven's jeweled crown
They shine forever more.

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He is not dead, he has merely gone
To meet the day with its rosy dawn,
And in a land that is wondrous fair
Restored, renewed he awaits us there.
Full well we know that he is not dead,
The one we love has gone on ahead.

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Just gone ahead to kindle the lights
For us on the long, long train
To guide our way at the close of day
To the country beyond the veil.

Where old friends meet and lovingly greet
Each other when tasks are done,
It's just for the day they've gone away
We'll follow them one by one.

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Again a prince has fallen in the fight
The valorous champion of truth and right,
Determined, honest, level-headed, just,
Who broke no promise of betrayed a trust,
His genial face with courtly kindness beamed --
By friends beloved, by all who knew him, esteemed.

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One by one we miss their voices
That we love so well to hear;
One by one their kindly faces
In the darkness disappear.

No one hears the door that opens,
Thus they pass beyond recall
Soft as loosened leaves of roses
One by one our loved ones fall.

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No broken ties, but just a veil between
Our earthly vision and that world unseen;
A little time to wait while loved ones there
Keep tender watch until we, too, may share
The perfect peace of God, the perfect love
That's known to those who dwell with Him above.

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Somewhere there is life eternal;
Somewhere there is a home above;
There is no night without a dawning;
Beyond this death is God, and love.

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Here lies the tragedy of our race:
Not that men are poor;
All men know something of poverty.
Not that all men are wicked;
Who can claim to be good?
Not that all men are ignorant;
Who can boast that he is wise?
But that men are Strangers!

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Are you a Master Mason with a watch fob, ring or pin?
Are all your signs without and no proof of the man within?
Would you think it quite sufficient when your emblems are in sight?
Or do you daily, hourly shed your true Masonic Light?
Did your interest in the Order cease when raised to heights sublime?
Or are you still found worthy as member all the time?
Are your daily thoughts and actions bent on place, and power, and self?
Or are you striving to be better than yourself?

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Said Ma to Pa, "Now tell me, John, the things you Masons do.
I have no curiosity, but tell me, husband true."
Said Pa to Ma, "If you will swear you'll never tell on me,
Their deepest secrets I'll reveal and pour them out on thee."
Ma, she crossed her heart three times with solemn nod of head,
While Pa, he twisted off a chaw, and this is what he said:
"We take a fellow to a graveyard, where ghosts and witches are;
And tell him he should mend his ways, 'cause he will soon be thar.
And when his jaw begins to shake and every Screech Own hoots,
He swears his wife can have her way, even tho' he wears the boots.
He swears he'll never take a nip, and never cuss an oath,
And he'll take his wife to meeting and sing loud enough for both.
He'll chop the wood and milk the cow, look pleasant every day,
Be handy man about the house, and do as wife shall say."
Said Ma to Pa, "I tell you John, there's nothing better, higher;
But, John, they'll either kick you out, or else you are a liar."

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When the night swoops down to embrace the day,
I shall slip my moorings and sail away
Through the purple shadows that darkly trail
O'er a ripple of water to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager sailing away
To mystic isles where at anchor lay
The craft of those who had sailed before
O'er the unknown sea to the unknown shore;
And a few who watch me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay.
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail,
Safely moored from storm and gale,
Greeting the friends who sailed before,
O'er the unknown sea to the unknown shore.

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CHARACTER

By Bayard Taylor

Fame is what you have taken,
Character's what you give;
Where to this truth you waken'
Then you begin to live.

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