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.