FREEMASONRY Etc. (MIRAMON NUEVO's blog)

A Masonic website of the Freemasons, by a Freemason, for the Freemasons whithersoever dispersed. "Sit Lux et Lux Fuit."

Archive for Masonic Poems

10 MASTER MASONS


TEN Master Masons, happy, doing fine;
One listened to a rumor, then there were nine.

NINE Master Masons, faithful, never late;
One didn’t like the “Master,” then there were eight.

EIGHT Master Masons, on their way to heaven;
One joined too many clubs, then there were seven.

SEVEN Master Masons, life dealt some hard licks;
One grew discouraged, then there were six.

SIX Master Masons, all very much alive;
One lost his interest, then there were five.

FIVE Master Masons, wishing there were more;
Got into a great dispute, then there were four.

FOUR Master Masons, busy as could be;
One didn’t like the programs, then there were three.

THREE Master Masons, was one of them you?
One grew tired of all the work, then there were two.

TWO Master Masons with so much to be done;
One said “What’s the use,” then there was one.

ONE Master Mason, found a brother — true!
Brought him to the Lodge, then there were TWO.

TWO Master Masons didn’t find work a bore;
Each brought another, then there were FOUR.

FOUR Master Masons saved their Lodge’s fate;
By showing others kindness, then there were EIGHT.

EIGHT Master Masons, loving their Lodges bright sheen;
Talked so much about it, they soon counted SIXTEEN.

SIXTEEN Master Masons, to their obligations true;
Were pleased when their number went to THIRTY-TWO.

So we can’t put our troubles at the Lodge’s door;
It’s our fault for harming the Lodge we adore.

Don’t fuss about the programs or the “Master” in the East;
Keep your obligation by serving even the very least.

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I’m Ready For My Last Degree (A Poem)


(From the Scottish Rite Reporter, Vol. XXXVII, March 2007)  

An old man lay sick in the Masonic State Home

His face was as white as the White Sea foam

His eyes were dim, his hair was gray

His back was bent with the toils of the way

He unflatteringly spoke, and I heard him say: 

“I’m ready for my last degree.” 

I’ve come to the end of that level of time

That leads us all to the Grand Lodge sublime

From whose sacred form none ever returns

More light in Masonry there I shall learn

By an altar where light ever more burns. 

“I’m ready for my last degree.” 

With the apprentice’s gauge I divided my time

And this I have found amidst life’s great turmoil

Time for work, for worship and rest for my toil

My wages are due in corn, wine and oil. 

“I’m ready for my last degree.” 

Each day from life’s quarries I’ve hewn out a stone

With the gavel I’ve shaped them each one alone

And shipped them alone beyond that bright strand

To build me a house in that bright, better land

A spiritual house not made by hands. 

“I’m ready for my last degree.” 

I’ve squared each stone by the virtue square

And plumbed them all true as I shipped them there

With the compass, I’ve measured the Master’s Designs

And kept in due bounds with his points and his lines

My blueprints are folded — I’ve answered his signs. 

“I’m ready for my last degree.” 

A few moments later the old man was dead

And I fancy I could see his soul as it fled

Upward and onward to that great door

Where he gave his alarm with these words once more:

“I’m ready for my last degree.” 

That night in a lodge free from strife and storm

He took his last degree – his last in due form

So may I live as to build day by day

A spiritual house in that land far away

So when I meet my Grand Master I can say: 

“I’m ready for my last degree.”