A Masonic Christmas Story
By Wor. Bro. C.S.L.
(Laurie) Lund & V.W.Bro. R.G. (Ron) Dixon
(With Apologies to Clement C. Moore)
This poem first appeared in our Lodge Newsletter, The Bluelight Bulletin, in 1994 - Civil Service Lodge #148 in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
'Twas nigh afore Christmas at the
Freemason's Hall
(Civil Services' regular), the order was tall;
Reams from Grand Lodge, a notice of motion,
A ballot or two and a pause for devotion
To brethren departed of the year '94,
Plus a candidate who would soon walk the floor.
Our own Junior Warden, when faced
with the crunch
Said, "Let's all call off and go upstairs for lunch."
The Master replied, as Masters all do,
Intoned in a voice reserved for the few,
"Before we partake of the fellowship there
Is the summons to read and a ballot to clear.
Not to mention the candidate, he's quaking with dread
At the stories of whether the goat has been fed."
The Master, exhorting the brethren
to work,
A firm grip on the gavel, he turned with a jerk
To the Secretary, putting a shine to each lens,
Polished both to a lustre and reached for his pens.
"It's half past the hour," the
Master then winced
At the stuff left to do and remained unconvinced
That the evening would go as smooth as he'd hoped
Since he'd gone to the trouble of feeding the goat.
"Though the ballot's behind us, the notice is gone,
Grand Lodge is finished, the work still goes on."
The Inner Guard knew as the Tyler
did too
That knock, knock and knock was the right thing to do.
Sidebenchers slept soundly and were only stirred
When the crack of the candidate's knuckles was heard
The slight groan that penetrated lips that were pursed
Appeared to the Deacon as just a light curse.
Onward they travel, the guide and
the man
Seeking truth and enlightenment wherever they can
The secrets were given, the grip and the token,
Obligation was offered, the words then were spoken.
Though never, not once, was one heard to gloat
As the Entered Apprentice never did meet the goat.
The evening now ended, the
candidate clear
Junior Warden entreats from the South us to hear
The oath we look forward to right from the start,
"Happy to meet and sorry to part."
Christmas had come to Civil
Service that night
As men came together under the light
Giving freely of time as a labour of love
As we bent to the task of the Most High above.
To Stewards, to Deacons, the
Tyler, the 'Guard
The Wardens, the Master, who all work so hard,
To Past Masters steady, Sidebenchers too
To Treasurer, Chaplain, the D. of C. who
Help carry the Lodge, year in and year out
To your family extended, a warm Christmas time.
Thank the G.A.O.T.U. we've run out of rhyme!
