Fathers Lodge Douglas Malloch

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.