Be the Best of Whatever You Are
If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley — but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can't be a tree.
If you can't be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make;
If you can't be a muskie then just be a bass —
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
We can't all be captains, we've got to be crew,
There's something for all of us here,
There's big work to do, and there's lesser to do,
And the task you must do is the near.
If you can't be a highway then just be a trail,
If you can't be the sun be a star;
It isn't by size that you win or you fail —
Be the best of whatever you are!
The Masonry Of Spring
Men say, 'How wonderful is Spring!'
I say, 'How marvelous is man!'
For Spring no more can gladness bring
To earth than men to mortals can.
The Springtime sun is very good,
But, oh, the smile of brotherhood!
And green the grass upon the slope,
But lovelier some word of hope.
There is a Masonry of earth,
Of sun and blossom, seed and rain;
The only Masonry of worth
Is one that brings the Spring again,
Brings strength to brothers sore beset,
And faith to brothers who forget;
Like sun to blossom, rain to seed,
Are men who come to men in need.
A great fraternity is ours
Who really see and understand,
A brotherhood of hearts and flow'rs
And smiling sun and stretching hand.
We, too, may bloom in our own way,
Make glad some other mortal's day,
As much as any birds that sing
In God's great Masonry of Spring!
Father's Lodge
Father's lodge, I well remember,
wasn't large as lodges go,
There was trouble in December
getting to it through the snow.
But he seldom missed a meeting;
drifts or blossoms in the lane,
Still the Tyler heard his greeting,
winter ice or summer rain.
Father's lodge thought nothing of it:
mid their labors and their cares
Those old Masons learned to love it,
that fraternity of theirs.
What's a bit of stormy weather,
when a little down the road,
Men are gathering together,
helping bear each other's load?
Father's lodge had made a village:
men of father's sturdy brawn
Turned a wilderness to tillage,
seized the flag, and carried on,
Made a village, built a city,
shaped a country, formed a state,
Simple men, not wise nor witty —
humble men, and yet how great!
Father's lodge had caught the gleaming
of the great Masonic past;
Thinking, toiling, daring, dreaming,
they were builders to the last.
Quiet men, not rich nor clever,
with the tools they found at hand
Building for the great forever,
first a village then a land.
Father's lodge no temple builded,
shaped of steel and carved of stone;
Marble columns, ceilings guilded,
father's lodge has never known.
But a heritage of glory
they have left, the humble ones —
They have left their mighty story
in the keeping of their sons.
