Victor Roy, a Masonic Poem

Excerpt

Victor Roy

Victor's Soliloquy.

Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds,
  And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling,
As the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds,
  Whistle and howl, like lost spirits calling.

But a warm luxuriantly furnished room,
  Is an antidote to the wild night storm,
Lamplight and firelight banish the gloom,
  No poverty stalks there with cold gaunt form.

Yet there seems a shadow, yes even there,
  Where all is so peacefully grand and still,
No fair young face with its shining hair,
  No voice of love with its musical thrill.

One reigneth alone in that mansion grand,
  And his day of life has long past its noon,
The wanderer of many a foreign land,
  Rests, calmly waiting Heaven's final boon.

There are lines on his brow of grief and care,
  Writ with a quill from Time's feathered wing.
There are silver threads in the chesnut hair,
  The blossoms white of a fair dawning spring.

Yet Victor Roy has a kindly word,
  And a kindly smile for all he meets;
No cry of distress is by him unheard,
  While many a blessing his pathway greets.

"Yes, that's right Jasper, draw the curtains close,
And make the fire burn bright;
God help the poor and suffering ones
Within this city to-night.
Did your wife send food to that sick girl in the market lane to-day?
Did you carry coals to the man whose limbs were crushed by the loaded dray?
Well, that's all right, what is it you say? you wish that I did but know
The comfort I give to hearts that are weak, or erring or low.
Have you turned lecturer, Jasper? no; but it makes you sad,
To see me lonely and quiet when I'm making others glad.
But Jasper, remember that you and I, hold certain things in trust,
We must gain some interest on our gold, not let it lie and rust.
I am but a steward for the King, till the time of his return,
There, that will do, supper at ten; how bright those fresh coals burn."
Poor Jasper, he thinks me moping and sad; well, well, I only know
I do not wish that he or aught should ever consider me so,
It would seem like base ingratitude to the Ruler of my way,
Who showers His blessings about and around me every day.
But oh, Great Architect, whose hand has carved my destiny,
There was a time when in my pride, I owned not Thine nor Thee,
Unheeding the Holy Light Divine to man's dark pathway sent,
Unheeding the Bible, blessed chart, to storm tossed sailors sent;
With a film in my eyes, I would not see the ladder based on earth,
Yet reaching to the cloud-crowned height, where the true Light has birth.
The beautiful angels passing up, with all our prayers to God,
Our tears and moans, our fading flowers, all stained with mire and sod--
And coming down; ah, many a time I have blessed the Lord above,
For His pure descending angels, bringing Faith, and Hope, and Love.
There was a time when all this wealth of glory was lost on me,
And I was like a rudderless ship, far out on the rocking sea,
I had a friend, oh that blessed word, we had been parted for years,
And I wandered one day to find him, my heart had no cloudy fears....