4
Since I was a Mason, a sad life I had,
The auld casting crew everlastingly gnaw'd,
That I met the de'il in the Lodge they all said,
But they'll men' if they miss him e'er all games he play'd.
If to Cowan and Craft I am punctual and just,
(Nae trifters of secrets or babblers we trust)
My place may be higher than folks who mair pray,
When rais'd from my lang hame, the cauld house of clay.
Nae farther I'll gang, while on this side of time,
Yae stap near their light, in the order sublime,
Where ilka mouth's clos'd, and the door's fastly barrid,
To initiate the novice, baith curious and scar'd;
Nae mair join in chorus, with sweet harmony soft,
Nae mair toast Kate, Ireland, or Peace to the Craft;
O, that I were with you, but here I maun stay,
Till I go to my lang home, the cauld house of clay.
Move round, sons of fellowship, yearly move round,
In the long summer day set apart for Saint John;
Ye Templers of worth, let your tried bosom friends stand,
And show faith and friendship by waving your hand;
Be faithful and friendly to folk who want skill,
The plans you're pursuing be sure to fulfil,
Live up to your principles, O that you may,
When I'm in my long hame, the cauld house of clay.
O bury with honour the poor widow's son,
While crowds from the auld walls look curiously on;
Oft times, when you're a' met, I'm lying my lane,
But you'll give me a round after singing the strain;
Tho' lid among netties, you'll find, as you search,
My stone of remembrance, deep mark'd with an arch;
I am very low, brethren, await me till day,
And then take me home to my cauld house of clay.
