You wear the Square! but have you got
That thing the Square denotes?
Is there within your inmost soul
That principle which should control
Your actions, words and thoughts?
The Square of virtue,is it there,
Oh, you who wear the Mason's Square?

You wear the Compass! Do you keep
With that circle due
That's circumscribed by law divine
Excluding hatred, envy, sin,
Including all that's true?
The Moral Compass draws the line,
And lets no evil passion in!

You wear the Trowel! have you got
That mortar, old and pure,
Made on the recipe of God
Divulged within His ancient Word,
Indissoluble, sure?
And do you spread, `twixt man and man,
That precious mixture as you can?

You wear the oriental G!
Ah, Brother, have a care!
He whose All-seeing Eye surveys
Your inmost heart, with open gaze,
Knows well what thoughts are there!
Let no profane, irreverent word
Go up t' insult th' avenging God!

Dear Brother! if you will display
These emblems of our Art,
Let the great morals that they teach
Be deeply graven, each for each,
Upon an honest heart!
Then they will tell, to God and man,
Freemasonry's all perfect plan!

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 your hand.

Give me your hand;
You are old; I am young;
The years in your heart their wisdom have sown;
But knowledge speaks not by my faltering tongue,
And small in the wisdom I claim as my own:
We are sundered, are we,
As two men can be
But we are two brothers in Freemasonry
So give me your hand.

The temple made of wood and stone may crumble and decay,
But there's a viewless fabric which shall never fade away
Age after age the Masons strive to consummate the plan,
But still the work's unfinished which those ancient Three began;
None but immortal eyes may view, complete in all its parts
The Temple formed of LIVING STONES,the structure made of hearts

´Neath every form of government, in every age and clime;
Amid the world's convulsions and the ghastly wrecks of time,
While empires rise in splendor, and are conquered and o'er thrown,
And cities crumble into dust, their very sites unknown,
Beneath the sunny smile of peace, the threatening frown of strife,
Freemasonry has stood unmoved, with age renewed her life.

She claims her votaries in all climes, for none are under ban
Who place implicit trust in God, and love their fellow man;
The heart that shares another's woe beats just as warm and true
Within the breast of Christian, or Mohammedan or Jew;
She levels all distinctions from the highest to the least,
The King must yield obedience to the Peasant in the East.

What honored names on history's page, o'er whose brave deeds we pore
Have knelt before our sacred shrine and trod the checkered floor!
Kings, princes, statesmen, heroes, bards who squared their actions true,
Between the Pillars of the Porch now pass in long review;
O, Brothers, what a glorious thought for us to dwell upon
The mystic tie that binds our hearts bound that of Washington!

Although our past achievements we with conscious pride review
As long as there's Rough Ashlars there is work for us to do
We still must shape the Living Stones with instruments of love
For that eternal Mansion in the Paradise above;
Toil as we've toiled in ages past to carry out the plan,
`Tis this,the Fatherhood of God, the Brotherhood of Man!

You may delve down to rock for your foundation piers,
You may go with your steel to the sky
You may purchase the best of the thought of the years,
And the finest of workmanship buy.
You may line with the rarest of marble each hall,
And with gold you may tint it; but then
It is only a building if it, after all,
Isn't filled with the spirit of men.

You may put up a structure of brick and of stone,
Such as never was put up before;
Place there the costliest woods that are grown,
And carve every pillar and door.
You may fill it with splendors of quarry and mine,
With the glories of brush and of pen––
But it's only a building, though ever so fine,
If it hasn't the spirit of men.

You may build such structure that lightning can't harm,
Or one that an earthquake can't raze;
You may build it of granite, and boast that its charm
Shall last to the end of all days.
But you might as well never have builded at all,
Never cleared off the bog and the fen,
If, after it's finished, its sheltering wall
Doesn't stand for the spirit of men.

For it isn't the marble, nor is it the stone
Nor is it the columns of steel,
By which is the worth of an edifice known;
But it's something that's LIVING and REAL.

Forget the hasty, unkind word:
Forget the slander you have heard;
Forget the quarrel and the cause;
Forget the whole affair, because,
Forgetting is the only way.
Forget the storm of yesterday;
Forget the knocker, and the squeak;
Forget the bad day of the week.
Forget you're not a millionaire;
Forget the grey streaks in your hair;
Forget to even get the blues -
But don't forget
To Pay Your Dues!

A poem written during WW1

God of our Fathers, at Whose call,
We now before Thine altar fall;
Whose grace can make our Order strong,
Through love of right and hate of wrong,
We pray Thee in Thy pity shield
Our Brethren on the battlefield.

Asleep, beneath Thine ample dome,
With many a tender dream of home;
Or charging, in the dust and glare,
With bullets hurtling through the air,
We pray Thee in Thy pity shield
Our Brethren on the battlefield.

O soon, Thou Blessed Prince of Peace,
Bring in the days when War shall cease,
And men and brothers shall unite
To fill the world with love and light,
We pray Thee in Thy pity shield
Our Brethren on the battlefield.

This poem was written by Mrs Gladys Treacy in 1986 for her Ladies' Evening

Gladys died in 2013

Her husband has expressed the wish that the original version is published with Gladys' name clearly defined as the author.

He wrote " She is sadly missed and we would all love to think that her memory and prowess as a poet could live on."

"I’m going to be a Mason," said Sir, one day just after tea.
"It will only mean one evening out, once a month," said he.
One evening quickly led to two, followed by three or four.
And pretty soon I asked his name when he walked in the door.

He bought a jar of peppermints and he put them in a tin.
"I have to hand these round" he said, "or they wont let me in."
So now when friends come calling, and ask, "Oh Where is he then?"
I say, " You won't see him tonight, cos he’s with the Peppermint Men."

He dines out fairly often, superb meals, mostly roast.
While I just watch the goggle-box and eat my beans on toast.
A clean white shirt is needed, his gloves as white as snow.
His suit well brushed, his case in hand - I wish he’d hurry up and go!

He’s started talking to himself, I heard him in the den.
I think he’s going crackers and I blame the peppermint men!
"I’m going in the CHAIR," he said, " a position of renown."
That’s nice I thought, with his poor knees he’s better sitting down!

"I’ll be a Master of my Lodge, you ought to be impressed."
"I am dear; take the rubbish out as soon as you are dressed."
"You’ll have to make a speech you know, when it’s your Ladies Night."
I look at him in horror as fear replaced delight.

I scribbled through a pad or two, as I tried hard to think.
I threw away six ball point pens when they ran out of ink.
But now the evening has arrived, no words can really tell.
That it’s the best night of my life - I hope it’s yours as well.

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 plan
Hither and thither, aimless,
The ruined footing 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 ground-works grew,
I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars,
And cut and reset them anew.
Lime I milled of his marbles:
Burned it, slaked it, and spread,
Taking and leaving at pleasure
The gifts of the humble dead.

Yet I despised not nor gloried;
Yet, as we wrench them apart,
I read in the razed foundations
The heart of that builder's heart.
As he had risen and pleaded,
So did I understand
The form of the dream he had followed
In the face of the thing he had planned.

When I was a King and a Mason
In the open noon of my pride,
They sent me a Word from the Darkness
They whispered and called me aside,
They said: "The end is forbidden."
They said: "Thy use is fulfilled.
Thy Palace shall stand as that other's
The spoil of a King who shall build."

I called my men from my trenches,
My quarries, my wharves and my sheers.
All I had wrought I abandoned
To the faith of the faithless years.
Only I cut on the timber
Only I carved on the stone:
"After me cometh a Builder,
Tell him, I, too, have known."

My New-Cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimsonblank the windows flare.
By my own work before the night,
Great Overseer, I make my prayer.

If there be good in that I wrought
Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine
Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought
I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.

The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain
Godlike to muse o'er his own Trade
And manlike stand with God again!

One stone the more swings into place
In that dread Temple of Thy worth.
It is enough that, through Thy Grace,
I saw nought common on Thy Earth.

Take not that vision from my ken
Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed.
Help me to need no aid from men

That I may help such men as need

Ther's mony a badge that's unco braw;
Wi' ribbon, lace and tape on;
Let kings an' princes wear them a'
Gie me the Master's apron!

The honest craftsman's apron,
The jolly Freemason's apron,
Be he at hame, or roam afar,
Before his touch fa's bolt and bar,
The gates of fortune fly ajar,
´Gin he but wears the apron!

For wealth and honor, pride and power
Are crumbling stanes to base on;
Fraternity suld rule the hour,
And ilka worthy Mason!
Each Free Accepted Mason,
Each Ancient Crafted Mason.

Then, brithers, let a halesome sang
Arise your friendly ranks alang!
Guidwives and bairnies blithely sing
To the ancient badge wi' the apron string
That is wom by the Master Mason!

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honoured station.
I've little to say, but only to pray,
As praying's the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from the muse you well may excuse,
`Tis seldom her favourite passion.

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide,
Who marked each element's border,
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim
Whose sovereign statute is order,
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention,
Or withered envy ne'er enter,
May secrecy round be the mystical bound
And brotherly love be the centre.

Last night I knelt where Hiram knelt
And took an obligation.
Today I'm closer to my God
And I'm a Master Mason.

Tho' heretofore my fellow men
Seemed each one like the other,
Today I search each one apart'
I'm looking for my Brother.

And, as I feel his friendly grip,
It fills my heart with pride;
I know that while I'm on the square,
That he is on my side.

His footsteps on my errand go
If I should such require;
His prayers will plead in my behalf
If I should so desire.

My words are safe within his breast
As though within my own;
His hand forever at my back
To help me safely home.

Good counsel whispers in my ear
And warns of any danger;
By Square and Compass, Brother now!
Who once would call me stranger.

I might have lived a moral life
And risen to distinctions
Without my brother's helping hand
And fellowship of Masons.

But God, who knows how hard it is
To resist life's temptations,
Knows why I knelt where Hiram knelt
And took that obligation.

It is not ornamental, the cost is not great,
There are things far more useful yet truly I state,
That of all my possessions, there's none to compare
With the white leather apron that all Masons wear.
As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant
When Dad hustled round and so much time was spent
On shaving and dressing and looking just right
Until Mother would say, It's the Masons tonight.
Then some nights she'd say What makes you go
Away up there tonight in the sleet and the snow
You see the same things every month of the year.
And Dad would reply, Yes I know it my dear.
For years I have seen the same things it is true,
And tho' they are old, still they seem new,
For the hands that I clasp, and the friends that I greet
Seem a little bit closer each time we meet

Years later I stood at that very same door,
With good men and true, who had entered before.
I kneeled at the altar, and there I was taught
That virtue and honour can never be bought.
That the spotless white lambskin, all Masons revere
If worthily worn grows more precious each year.
That service to others brings blessings untold
That men may be poor, tho' surrounded by gold.
I learned that true brotherhood flourishes there,
That enmities fade 'neath the compasses and square,
That wealth and position are all thrust aside,
As there on the level men meet and abide.
So, honour the lambskin and may it remain
Forever unblemished and free from all stain,
And when we are called to the great Father's love,
May we all take our place, in the Grand Lodge above

He who acts upon the Square
Will always well with all compare.
The Mason uses tools of love
To build a Temple planned above.
The Gauge he constantly employs
To measure work and limit joys.
The Plumb imbues his soul and heart
With love Divine and sacred art.
The Level guides his daily act
And makes good fellowship a fact.
If we employ these tools each day
A beautiful Temple will be our pay.

Just a little lodge room,
But a mighty force for good;
With its loyal band of members
Learning more of brotherhood;
Striving, stumbling, but progressing
Down a pathway toward the right;
Just a humble bunch of plain folks,
Reaching, seeking for the light.

Just a quiet little lodge room,
How it stirs the heart and soul
With the thrill of great endeavor
Toward a high and common goal;
With each pledge of faith and courage
To maintain the forward fight,
On the road that leads them onward
Even onward to the light.

Behold, how pleasant and how good
For brothers such as we
In this united Brotherhood
To dwell in unity.
‘Tis like the oil on Aaron's head
Which to his feet distills;
Like Hermon's dew so richly shed
On Zion's sacred hills.

For there the Lord of light and love
A blessing sent with power,
O, may we all this blessing prove,
Even life for evermore.
On friendship's altar, rising here,
Our hands now plighted be,
To live in love, with hearts sincere,
In peace and unity.

Come, let us prepare,
We brothers that are
Met together on merry Occasion;
Let us drink, laugh and sing,
Our Wine has a Spring,
'Tis a Health to an Accepted Mason.

The World is in Pain
Our Secret to gain,
But still let them wonder and gaze on;
Till they're shewn the Light
They'll ne'er know the right
Word or Sign of an Accepted Mason.

'Tis This and 'tis That,
They cannot tell what,
Why so many great Men in the Nation
Should Aprons put on,
To make themselves one
With a Free or an Accepted Mason.

Great Kings, Dukes and Lords,
Have laid by their Swords,
This our Myst'ry to put a good Grace on,
And ne'er been asham'd
To hear themselves nam'd
With a Free or an Accepted Mason.

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 greeting, winter ice or summer rain.

Father's lodge thought nothing of it; 'mid 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 county, formed a state.
Simple men, not wise nor witty humble men, and yet how great!

Father's lodge had caught the gleaming of the great Masonic past;
Thinking, toiling, daring, dreaming, they were builders of the last.
Quiet men, not rich nor clever, with the tools they found at hand
Building for the great forever, first a village, then a land.

Father's lodge no temple builded, shaped 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.

In the Lodge we meet the fellows,
Who, in other walks of life,
We would seldom ever contact,
And then perhaps in strife.
They are men of every leaning
Whom we good and honest call,
And the splendid thing about it
Is, that we are Brothers All.

They are men of every station;
Some are rich and some are poor;
But they all are full of friendship
And of service have a store.
We may differ in our methods,
But our objects we recall
And it binds us in a labor
And it makes us Brothers All.

They are men of truth and honor
Trusting always in the right;
Seeking always further light.
What a power for perfect justice!
How can failure e'er befall
Such a firmly founded body
For the Lodge makes Brothers All?