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We are Two Brothers - A Poem By H. L. Haywood

We are Two Brothers By H. L. Haywood Give me your hand You are rich I am poor Your wealth is your power, and by it you tread A wide open path where for me is a door That is locked and before it are worry and dread. We are sundered, are we, As two men can be But we are two brothers in Freemasonry So give me your hand.Give me your hand You are great I'm unknown You travel with a permanent fame I go on a way unlauded, alone, With hardly a man to hear of my name: We are sundered, are we, As two men can be But we are two brothers in Freemasonry So give me...

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Adieu, A Heart-Warm, Fond Adieu - A Poem By Robert Burns

Adieu, A Heart-Warm, Fond Adieu By Robert Burns Adieu, a heart warm, fond adieu,Dear brothers of the mystic tie!Ye favored, ye enlightened few,Companions of my social joy!Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,Pursuing fortune's slidd'ry ba',With melting heart and brimful eye,I'll mind you still, though far awa'.Oft have I met your social band,An' spent the cheerful, festive nightOft, honored with supreme command,Presided o'er the sons of lightAnd by that Hieroglyphic bright,Which none but Craftsmen ever saw,Strong memory on my heart shall writeThose happy scenes, when far awa'.May freedom, harmony and loveUnite you in the grand design,Beneath th' omniscient Eye above,The glorious Architect divine That you may keep the unerring line,Still rising by the plummet's law,Till order bright completely shine,Shall be...

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The Palace - A Poem By Rudyard Kipling

The Palace By Rudyard Kipling When I was a King and a Mason, a Master Proven and skilled,I cleared me ground for a Palace, such as a King should build.I decreed and dug down to my levels presently, under the silt,I came on the wreck of a Palace, such as a King had built.There was no worth in the fashion there was no wit in the planHither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran.Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone,After me cometh a Builder tell him I, too, have known.Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned groundworks grew,I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and rest them anew.Lime I milled of his marbles burned...

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The Past Master - A Poem

The Past Master  Unknown Author Who's the stranger, Mother, dear? Look, he knows us - ain't that queer? Hush, my son, don't talk so wild -He's your father, dearest child. He's my father? It's not so!Father died six years ago. Dad didn't die, Oh love of mine, He's been going through the line. But he's been Master now so he Has no place to go you see - No place left for him to roam. That is why he is coming home.Kiss him, he won't bite you child. All Past Masters are quite mild.

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