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A MASONIC ODE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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120

A MASONIC ODE.

[_]

Air—Hail to the Chief.

Dark was the hour, when Columbia, despairing,
Breathed her petitions for succour in vain,
While in her vallies the war-torch was glaring,
Sweeping her hamlets and cots from the plain.
Wounded and bleeding her sons were retiring,
Flush'd with successes, the foeman pursued;
Freedom and Hope seem'd in tortures expiring,
Heroes were sleeping in death, unsubdued
Great source of light!” she cried,
“No more thy presence hide,
Is there no help? We are sorely beset.”
Soon as the mourner spoke,
Bright rays of glory broke,
Round a young hero—the brave La Fayette.
Lo! from the east, with a mystic resplendence,
Rose the bright star which enlightened the gloom;
Led by its ray, and our loved Independence,
Came the young knight, with his bright glossy plume.
Washington saw, and with rapture elated,
Press'd to his bosom the chivalrous boy;
Tyranny frown'd, and with hate unabated,
Sought, like a Herod, the youth to destroy.
Fierce raged the vengeful fray,
Till freemen gain'd the day,
Age-frosted veterans remember it yet:

121

Then gallant Washington
Hail'd Gallia's godlike son,
Champion of freedom, the brave La Fayette.
Thus was the temple of freedom erected,
Crown'd with the key-stone of union and love;
Wisdom, and Beauty, and Strength, were connected,
Three noble pillars which nothing can move.
Tyrants may rage, and in triple alliance,
Seek to demolish so sacred a dome;
Trusting in Heaven, we bid them defiance,
While we thus welcome its architect home.
Hail! friend of Washington!
Hail! Gallia's godlike son!
Brother! companion! as such dearer yet,
Long may thy friendly smile
Our festive hours beguile,
Long may freemasons thus hail La Fayette.