I read this poem in today's email bulletin from ElPasoMasons.net and found it pretty profound, so I thought I'd share it with you all. It reminds me of our Nation's founding fathers.
Father's lodge, I well remember, wasn't large as lodges go;
There was trouble in December; getting to it through the snow.
But he seldom missed a meeting; drifts or blossoms in the lane,
Still the Tyler heard his greetings, winter ice or summer rain.
Father's lodge thought nothing of it; amid their labors and their cares;
Those old Masons learned to love it; that fraternity of theirs.
What's a bit of stormy weather, when a little down the road.
Men are gathering together, helping bear each other's load?
Father's lodge had made a village; men of father's sturdy brawn.
Turned a wilderness to tillage; seized the flag, and carried on.
Made a village, built a city, shaped a country, formed a state.
Simple men, not wise nor witty, humble, and yet how great!
Father's lodge had caught the gleaming of the great Masonic past;
Thinking, toiling, daring, dreaming, they were builders to the last.
Quiet men, not rich nor clever, with the tools they found a hand;
Building for a great forever; first a village, then a land.
Father's lodge it was no temple, built of steel and carved of stone;
Marble columns, ceilings gilded, father's lodge has never known.
But a heritage of glory they have left, the humble ones.
They have left their mighty story in the keeping of their sons.
-- Edited by WB John F. Browne, 2002.
** The Valley News, Valley of Bellingham, Volume 2, May/June 2006; Number 5.