A Valedictory Masonic Song

Ye Brothers of fraternal mind, Whom honor, truth, and justice bind, In whom the sons of science sind No sly dissimulation— Accept a tribute, justly due, From a fond heart, faithful and true; Accept my tender, last adieu; And believe That I grieve Your worthy, social band to leave, Because I am a MASON.

Although remote from you I stray, Where sickle Fortune leads the way, Your mem'ry on my breast shall stay While I have respiration: And let me hold the fond idea, That you will mind unworthy me, Whene'er you meet in social glee: Give a toast— Let me boast The friendship of your noble host: I ask it as a MASON.

If e'er the Syrens of the age Have drawn me from the Mystic Gague, Pray blot the error from the page Of rigid observation. Your kindness on my heart I'll write; And all unkindness, from my sight, I'll banish to eternal night. Let us be Masons free— Forgive, likewise forgiven be;— The creed of ev'ry MASON.

Your choicest love I once did share,— Your brightest badge did often wear,— Plac'd in the Oriental Chair By Mystic Installation; And, by the emblematic THREE, Dispens'd the gifts of Masonry, Till the Meridian Orb we see: Then we may Wet our clay, And pass a cheerful hour away In graleful relaxation.

A list'ning ear obtains the art,— A silent tongue will ne'er impart The secrets of a faithful heart, Whatever the temptation; But honor, justice, both combine To dignify the Grand Design— And love thro' all their actions shine; With a mind Just and kind; All their pleasures are refin'd: So happy is a MASON.

Their faith's upheld by reason's voice; Their hope forestalls enjoyments choice; In charity their hearts rejoice, And bless each fond occasion: When unforeseen misfortunes press The sons or daughters of distress, With kind, fraternal tenderness, Prompts relief, Sooths their grief; Of their pleasures 'tis the chief, To raise a fallen MASON.

Humanity, that virtue bright— Friendship, so lovely to the sight— Brotherly-Love their hearts unite In blest conciliation: No doting sot their mirth shall wound— No minor knows their rites profound— No atheist treads their hallow'd ground; No alloy To their joy: Pleasures pure, which never cloy, Belong to ev'ry MASON.

May friendship, harmony, and love, Your guardians and companions prove, Till the Celestial Lodge above Shall be each Brother's station; But death, the level—Time, the line And plumb of justice, must combine To fit us for that bliss divine: Then shall we Happy be; Tow'rds the East we'll bow the knee, To our GRAND MASTER MASON.