Corner Stone Laying.

The following lines were read at the festival after the stone had been laid by Grand Master Col. Moffat, of a church on the Culloden road, with Masonic honors.


        In this quiet spot this day of June,
        Which will not be forgotten soon,
        For when your little church on hill
        You overflowingly did fill,
        You then resolved there should arise
        Church worthy of your enterprise,
        You've laid foundation broad and deep,
        And showers of blessings may you reap.

        Craft of King Hiram and Saint John
        Have come to lay the corner stone,
        At the call of our Grand Master
        Who was invited by your pastor,
        With silver trowel all so fair
        He laid foundation on the square,
        May you be blessed with Christian love,
        And we all meet in Lodge above.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

Queen's Jubilee Ode, 1887.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Niagara Dry.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Millar.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Prince Charlie's Grandsons.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Adoniram. A Legend of the Temple.

    The dew was gone,
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Tall cedars grew in beauty there.
As Adoniram took his way,
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    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,
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    He watched them there,
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Hymn For The Celebration At The Laying Of The Cornerstone Of Harvard Memorial Hall, Cambridge, October 6, 1870

Not with the anguish of hearts that are breaking
Come we as mourners to weep for our dead;
Grief in our breasts has grown weary of aching,
Green is the turf where our tears we have shed.

While o'er their marbles the mosses are creeping,
Stealing each name and its legend away,
Give their proud story to Memory's keeping,
Shrined in the temple we hallow to-day.

Hushed are their battle-fields, ended their marches,
Deaf are their ears to the drum-beat of morn, -

Rise from the sod, ye fair columns and arches
Tell their bright deeds to the ages unborn!

Emblem and legend may fade from the portal,
Keystone may crumble and pillar may fall;
They were the builders whose work is immortal,
Crowned with the dome that is over us all!

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Oddfellowship Lines Read At Concert, 1883.

        We look in vain for our Past Grands,
        Now scattered over many lands,
        Now some o'er the wide world do rove,
        And some have joined Grand Lodge above,
        But ever since Father Adams' fall
        We are dependent creatures all,
        Though man is weak yet he may join
        With others strength for to combine.

        The illustration it is grand,
        Five Oddfellows in one hand,
        And yet they all united stand,
        Each finger hath a different length,
        Each finger varies in its strength,
        Each one is weak, but a firm fist,
        You can scarcely break or twist,
        'Tis same with members of a lodge,
        United them you cannot budge.

        Then let us linked with pleas...

James McIntyre

Lines Read At St. Andrew's Anniversary, 1868.

        Scotia's sons to-night we meet thee,
        With kindly feelings we do greet thee,
        In honor of the land of heather,
        Around this board to-night we gather.

        Land where the fields for border edges,
        Have garlands of blooming hedges,
        Land of the whin and of the broom
        And where the bonnie blue bells bloom.

        Land where you may enraptured hark
        To heavenly song of the skylark,
        Which soars triumphant in the skies
        Above the gaze of human eyes.

        Land of bleak hills and fertile dales,
        Where they tell oft their fairy tales,
        Land where the folks do love the kirk
        And on the Sabbath cease from work.

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The Master's Song.

Written for the freemasons of St. John's Lodge No. 1, New York.




Members of an order
    Ancient as the earth;
All within our border
    Realize its worth.
Genial is the greeting
    That awaits us there,
On the level meeting,
    Parting on the square.
Like the workmen olden,
    Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
    Ever bear in mind.

Masons never falter,
    We each other know,
As around the altar
    Hand in hand we go;
Loud hosannas singing
    To our Source above,
And heart-offerings bringing
    To the God of Love.
Like the workmen olden,
    Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
    Ever bear in mind.

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Lines Read At A Scottish Anniversary At Embro.

        Scotsmen have wandered far and wide
        From Moray Frith to Frith of Clyde,
        McDonald from his sea girt isle,
        And Campbell from his broad Argyle.

        But chiefly here you have come forth
        From those counties of the north,
        Some oft have trod Dunrobins halls
        And gazed upon its stately walls.

        Here to night in this array
        Is Murray, McKenzie and McKay,
        And there doth around us stand
        The Munroe, Ross and Sutherland.

        Your young men have high honor earned
        In all of the professions learned,
        Your bonnie lasses sung in song,
        And youths are famed for muscle strong.

James McIntyre