Hampden Lodge Pour Bien Desirer

My Last Request


Brethren of our mystic order,
Bound together by a tie,
Olden, sacred and enduring,
Come and see a Craftsman die.

Watch like angels round my pillow,
Till the ransomed spirit flies
To its Excellent Grand Master,
In His Lodge above the skies.

Oft we've met upon the Level,
Let us part upon the Square —
Perfect Ashlers in the temple,
May we meet together there.

Let no stranger's hand entomb me
Underneath the tufted sod,
None except a brother Mason
Should consign my dust to God.

Heave no formal sigh of sorrow
O'er the ashes of the,dead,
Only plant the priceless symbol,
Freshly blooming at my head.

When death's gavel sound shall call you
Off from Labour unto rest,
May you, Craftsmen, find Refreshment
In the mansions of the blest.