Adoniram. A Legend of the Temple.
By Harriet Annie Wilkins
The dew was gone,
The morn was bright, the skies were fair,
The flowers smiled neath the sunbeams ray,
Tall cedars grew in beauty there.
As Adoniram took his way,
To Lebanon.
Praise his heart filled,
More than four hundred years had fled,
Since from stern Egypt marched the bands,
Whose sons, with Solomon at their head,
And Tyrian brethern's skilful hands,
Prepare to build.
He watched them there,
Round every block, and every stone,
Masonic implements were laid,
But around one were many thrown,
And yet it seemed already made,
Tried, true and square.
He wandering spake,
"Are not all from one mountain brought
As jewels for a diadem,
Why, have they at this one stone wrought,
Will not all see Jerusalem.
One house to make?"
The Widow's son
Smiled kindly in his brother's face,
And said "All are made ready here,
But not all fill the same high place,
The Corner stone this will be near,
When toil is done."
The listener bent,
His eyes on the unfinished stone,
And found himself a wiser man,
Through that rough child of mountains lone,
A ray of the Grand Master's plan,
To him was sent.
From Masonry,
That just man learnt that woes are thrown
Around God's children, pain and care,
But draw them near the corner stone,
With the Great Architect to share,
Heaven's blazonry.
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