In the ancient days of story,
When the fathers sought the light,
And the temple’s golden glory
Blazed on old Moriah’s height;
Deep within the sacred portals
Of that holy house of prayer,
Thrilling awed and trembling mortals,
Burned a mystic brightness there.
Day and night its glow extended
Thru the calm religious gloom,
While the long-robed priests attended
In the consecrated room.
‘Twas the pure Shekinah gleaming,—
Symbol of the eternal God,
As His Light, ‘mid darkness beaming,
Dwells within the human clod.
Tell me, brother, as you travel
On the rugged earthly way,
Should the Master Builder’s gavel
Sound your final call today;
As your weary feet are turning
At the summons to depart,
Can you find the God-light burning
In the temple of your heart?
Could you find the clear rays brightly
Showing a record called “Well done,”—
Telling good deeds wrought uprightly,
Battles fought and victories won?
Has the pure divine example
Been for you the better part,
Safely lodged within the temple
Of a true Masonic heart?
Let your willing hands be doing
Daily for a brother’s needs,
Thus the sacred flame renewing
With the oil of kindly deeds.
Keep your temple swept and garnished
With your tenets’ rule divine,
And your light, its ray untarnished,
Thru the night will ever shine.
Carl W. Mason