Take my Hand and Follow me.
Take My Hand; Follow Me
The secrets of Masonry I wanted to know.
Of a Mason I asked what those secrets might be.
He replied, “First we talk, then we will see.”
A petition he granted and ordered it filled
To be read at a meeting and a judgment be willed.
Then questions I answered about God and home;
Of habits and friends; a wife or alone.
In time I was summoned, a date to appear
Before an assembly of men gathered near.
I entered the building and looked up the stair;
Does pleasure or pain await me up there?
A hazing by paddle; a taunting by joke?
My petition granted, or maybe revoked.
Introductions or handshakes greeted me there
And lessons symbolic, an aid to prepare
For a journey in darkness, a pre-destined plight
To a Holy of Holies, the source of all Light.
How well I remember what I heard someone say:
“To enter God’s Kingdom there is but one way.
Be ye naked and blind; penniless and poor.
This you must suffer ‘fore entering that door.
The journey ahead is not yours to know.
But trust in your God wherever you go.”
Then assurance from the darkness, whispered tenderly,
“My friend , be not afraid. Take my hand; follow me.”
With nervous attention a path I then trod;
A pathway in darkness to the altar of God.
With cable-tow and hood-wink on bare bended knee,
A covenant was made there between God and me.
Charges and promises were made there that night
Dispelling the darkness and bringing me Light
Mid lightning and thunder and brethren on row.
Cast off the darkness! And cast off the tow!
In the company of men a man you must be.
Moral in character, the whole world to see.
Trust in your God; promise daily anew
To be honest and upright in all things you do.
Each man is a brother in charity to share;
With those suffering hunger, pain or despair.
The widow and orphan and brother in pain.
Depend on your mercy their welfare to gain.
The secrets of brethren keep only in mind.
To the ladies of brethren be noble and kind.
Go now, my brother, your journey’s begun.
Your wages await you when your journey is done.
That journey I started, oh, so long ago
And I’ve learned of those things I wanted to know.
I’ve learned of the secrets, not secret at all,
But hidden in knowledge within Masons’ hall.
Childhood yields to manhood; manhood yields to age,
Ignorance yields to knowledge, knowledge yields to sage.
I’ve lived all my life the best that I could
Knowing full well how a good Mason should.
I know of those times when I slipped and then fell.
What’s right and what’s wrong were not easy to tell.
But a trust in my God and a true brother’s hand
Helped raise me up and allowed me to stand.
I’ve strode down the old path, Masonically worn
By all Masons raised for the Masons unborn.
But this tired old body, once young and so bold,
Now suffers the afflictions of having grown old.
The almond tree’s flourished; the grinders are few.
The housekeepers tremble; desires fail too.
The locusts are a burden; fears are in the way;
The golden bowl is breaking, a little each day.
Mine eyes again are darkened;
My sight again to fail.
I sense the Master’s presence
Mid my family’s silent wail.
I’ve laid aside my working tools;
My day is nearly done.
For long I’ve played the game of life;
The game’s no longer fun.
Life’s pathway ends before me;
I see what’s meant for me.
An acacia plant is growing
Where a beehive used to be.
The Ethereal Lodge has summoned
From beyond the wailing wall
And I vowed that I must answer
When summoned by a call.
Again I stand bewildered at the bottom of the stair
In nervous apprehension of what awaits me there.
Once again, this time alone. I stand without the door.
With trembling hand I slowly knock
As once I did before.
I pray again to hear those words,
“My son, be not afraid. Take my hand; follow me.”
A member of a certain Lodge, who previously attended meetings regularly, stopped going. After a few months, the Worshipful Master decided to visit him.
It was a chilly evening, and the Worshipful Master found his brother at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for the Worshipful Master’s visit, the brother welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace and waited.
The Worshipful Master made himself comfortable, but said nothing. In the grave silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs. After several minutes, the Worshipful Master took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth, all alone. Then he sat back in his chair, still silent.
His host watched all of this in quiet contemplation. As the one, lone ember’s flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow, and its fire was no more. Soon, it was cold and dead.
Not a word had been spoken since the initial greeting. The Worshipful Master glanced at his watch and chose this time to leave. He slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember, and placed it back in the middle of the fire. Immediately, it began to glow once more, with all the light and warmth of the burning coals around it.
As the Worshipful Master reached the door to leave, his host said, with a tear running down his cheek, “Thank you so much for your fiery summons,
my brother. I’ll be back in our Lodge next meeting.”
This poem & story were shared with me by a Brother who passed to the GLA in 2015, both bring to my mind beautiful memories of friendship & brotherly love.
Max was a good man and a wonderful friend & brother.
I do appreciate, you the reader, will gain some benefit from this sharing.
Have a wonderful Day & God Bless