Songs, Song

Ye gracious powers of cheral song, Attend; inspire your festive throng; Let harmless mirth, and frolic glee, Dance sportive at our Jubilce.

We ask no sound of spear or shield, No trophics of th' ensanguin'd field; Let Hope, let Faith and Charity, Begin and end our Jubilee.

No savage warrior's scarlet name, Shall e'er defile our roll of fame; Bur peace, with white rob'd train we see, Presiding at our Jubilee.

The heart that feels for widow'd woe, The tears, for orphans pangs that flow, The voice which bids distress to flee, Shall celebrate in Jubilee.

Mercy, with pearly melting eye, Stern Justice with her sword on high, Shall both attendant angels be, To guide, to guard our Jubilee.

Each Brother's soul shall rapturous swell, Nor sorrow toll our sadd'ning knell; The voice, the hands, the heart by three, Shall thrice repeat our Jubilee.

Then call from east to west the world, The mystic banners are unfurl'd! And O! departed ancients, see From heaven, and bless our Jubilee!

Lo! from his great or little store, Each Brother flies his mite to pour, That men may still rejoice to see, A Mason's lodge a Jubilee.

Then, round the circle, let the glass Yet in the square, convivial pass; And when the sun winds o'er the lea, Each lass, shall have her Jubilee.

Be this the general, cordial toast, A wish that never should be lost, That all the world may Masons be, And live and love in Jubilee.