Our Poor Brethren.

"Our poor and penniless brethren, dispersed over land and sea."     --Masonic Sentiment     They met in the festive hall,         Lamps in their brightness shone,     And merry music and mirth,         Aided the feast of St. John.     Men pledged the health of their Queen         And of all the Royal band,     The flags of a thousand years,         The swords of their motherland.     Then mid the revelry came         The sound of a mournful strain,     Like a minor chord in music,         A sweet but sad refrain;     It rose on the heated air,         Like a mourner's earnest plea,     "Our poor and penniless brethren         Dispersed over land and sea."     Poor and penniless brethren         Scattered over the world,     Want and misfortune and woe         Round them fierce darts have hurled;     Wandering alone upon mountains,         Sick and fainting and cold,     Lying heart-broken in prisons,         Chained in an enemy's hold.     Dying in fields of combat,         With none to answer back     The masonic sign of distress,         Left on the battle's track.     Shipwrecked in foaming waters,         Clinging to broken spars,     Dying, this night of St. John,         Mid the ocean and the stars.     Others with hunger faint--we         Taste these rich and varied meats--     Oppression gives them no home         But dark and desolate streets.     Oh, God of mercy, hear us,         As we ask a boon for Thee,     For poor and penniless brethren         Dispersed over land and sea.     Poor and penniless brethren,         Ah, in the Master's sight,     We all lay claim to the title         On this, our festival night.     Lone pilgrims journeying on         Towards light that points above,     Treading the chequered earthworks         Till we reach the land of love.     Work up to the landmark, brothers,         We shall not always stay,     The falling shadows warn us         To work in the light of day.     How often our footsteps turn         Where a brother's form is hid,     Oft we cast evergreen sprigs         On a brother's coffin lid.     Thou, who dost give to each         Some appointed post to hold,     Teach us to cherish the weak,         To give Thy silver and gold;     To guard as a soldier guards         Honor and Love's pure shrine,     To give our lives for others,         As Thou did'st for us give Thine.     To Masons all over the world         Give wisdom to work aright,     That they may gather in peace         Their working tools at night.     May love's star glitter o'er each,         Amid darkness, storm or mist,     As on this night of St. John,         Our Blest Evangelist.