{"id":37,"date":"2012-12-15T01:33:00","date_gmt":"2012-12-15T01:33:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/2012\/12\/15\/king-solomons-temple-by-brother-a-j-h-duganne-reprinted-by-gm-tweddell-1870\/"},"modified":"2012-12-15T01:33:00","modified_gmt":"2012-12-15T01:33:00","slug":"king-solomons-temple-by-brother-a-j-h-duganne-reprinted-by-gm-tweddell-1870","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/2012\/12\/15\/king-solomons-temple-by-brother-a-j-h-duganne-reprinted-by-gm-tweddell-1870\/","title":{"rendered":"KING SOLOMON’S TEMPLE. By Brother A. J. H. Duganne. Reprinted by GM Tweddell 1870"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\nKing Solomon’s Temple – An American Masonic poem – 10 pages reprinted 1870 by Tweddell<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/i><\/div>\n
\nAs it says in the above “Messers Tweddell (one of the firm being Bro. Geo Tweddell FSA &c …having recently re-printed and issued this striking Masonic poem in the shape of  neat pamphlet. Messers Tweddell deserve credit for the perception they have shown in selecting this admirable Masonic poem for reproduction in this country. The beautiful allegory which pervades its flowing versification throughout, the happiness of its expression and allusions, commend it to the study and perusal of every member of the Order<\/i>” Freemason’s Magazine 1870<\/b><\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/b><\/div>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\nI haven’t yet found a copy of Tweddell’s pamphlet with this poem in but found a version in the above anthology of Masonic Poetry The Poetry of Freemasonry <\/i>compiled by  Robert Morris<\/b> Masonic Poet Laureate<\/i>.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nhttp:\/\/www.aasrschenectady.org\/lib\/Freemasonry\/Freemasonry%20M-O\/Morris%20R%20-%20%20The%20Poetry%20of%20Freemasonry%201884.pdf<\/span><\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nKING SOLOMON’S TEMPLE.<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
\nBy Brother A. J. H. Duganne<\/i>.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nPart I.<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
\nIt is told, in a quaint old nursery tale,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThat perchance you have often read,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow a castle lies hid in some charmed vale.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nRemote from the usual tread;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd within an enchanted Princess lies.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAsleep in her silken bed;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhilst round about, under slumberous charms.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLie the forms of her lordly train \u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd their squires, and archers, and yeomen -at-arms.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAs valiant as ever drew rein;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut with helmets, and bucklers, and lances,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAll clouded with mildew-stain.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAll corroded and mildew’d with rust of time.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThey are lying in court and hall;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEvery young knight’s beard bears a frosty rime\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike the beard of the Seneschal<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWho awaits, in his chair, at the postern gate.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe sound of a trumpet call;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhile below, in the crypts of this castle strange<\/span><\/div>\n
\nO’erbrooded by self-same spell.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThere are shapes like friars, in cloister’d range,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLying each at the door of his cell.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd awaiting, in motionless slumber,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe stroke of a summoning bell!!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor whenever a Knight who is tried and true<\/span><\/div>\n
\nRides late o’er the haunted wold.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd peals a loud summons the trumpet through,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThat hangs at the postern old.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThen, in all the crypts of this castle<\/span><\/div>\n
\nA bell is solemnly toU’d\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Princess arises, in royal gear,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the couch of her charmed rest.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd her knights and her nobles take shield and spear.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAt their beautiful lady’s behest;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd they hie to the gate of the postern<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo welcome their midnight guest!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThen afar through the cloisters and corridors<\/span><\/div>\n
\nSounds a monotone stroke of the bell;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd each friar steals forth, o’er the marble floors,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the door of his darksome cell;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd he creepeth away to the postern gate\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHis marvelous story to tell;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhile the bell of the castle is ringing amain,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the wondering guest comes in;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Seneschal leading his ghastly train<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAway through the ghostly din;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThen the friars rehearse to the stranger knight<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTheir stories of sorrow and sin.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith a patter of prayers and a dropping of beads,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThey recount, to the shuddering man,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow their souls waxed heavy with sinful deeds<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the days of their mortal span;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd how Heaven’s avenging sentence<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTheir earthly years o’erran !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Princess reveals to the stranger knight<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow she needs must slumber alway,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTill a Prince of the Temple, in valorous fight.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nShall a Saracen sorcerer slay\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the spell of his midnight magic<\/span><\/div>\n
\nDisperse under morn’s sweet ray !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut alas ! for that guest of the haunted grange.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIf no Templar Knight he be;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd woe, when he listeth that story strange,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIf no memories pure hath he !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo the spell of the sorcerer’s magic<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHe must bow his powerless knee;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHe must sink into sleep, with the shape he sees.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd his buckler and helm will rust!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHe must lie in the cloisters and crypts, with these<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWho have risen, to greet him, from dust!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd await, with them, an awakening<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBy hero more pure and just!<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike that charmed castle, in haunted vale,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIs the wondrous Masonic Past!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the heroes and yeomen of History’s tale<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAre reclining in slumbers fast;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the spell of an indolent seeming<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOver all their memories cast !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut the Princess, who sleeps in her silken bed.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIs the spirit of ancient Truth;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLying evermore shrouded with tatter and shred.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut for evermore fresh with youth\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd awaiting the pure-hearted Seeker<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo come, with his valor and truth<\/span><\/div>\n
\n!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike the knights and the nobles in slumber profound,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAre our riddles and fables of old;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn their rust and their dust they incumber the ground,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd abide in their garments of mold \u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nKeeping truth, like a charmed Princess,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAsleep in their ghostly hold.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n‘Mid the haunted cloisters of History’s script,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the House of the Past they dwell;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike the souls of the friars, they hide in each crypt,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd emerge from each darksome cell\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAt the blast of a summoning trumpet,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTheir wonderful stories to tell !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the volumed marvels of Grecian mind,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the records of Roman lore,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThere are riddles of wisdom for human kind.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo ponder a lifetime o’er ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd to all of their mystical meanings<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEach heart is an open door !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEvery human heart is a postern gate<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo the house of the wondrous Past,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the heroes and sages of History wait<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe sound of a trumpet blast,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThat shall break the enchanted slumbers<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor ages around them cast!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow the voices of song, out of Dorian aisles.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith their Iliad and Odyssey swell !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow they roll’d from the shadows of Tuscan piles,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the Florentine chanted of Hell!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd how grandly, through Gothic chancels.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOf Paradise Lost they tell<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the whispers of hearts, and responses of souls,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFlow around, like the west wind kind,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen the song of the Singer of Avon rolls<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThrough the gates of our listening mind,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the plaint of the pilgrim Harold<\/span><\/div>\n
\nSounds fitful and strange behind !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAll the climes of the earth are as Holy Lands<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo the feet of the children of Song ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEvery realm hath its Mecca, where pilgrim bands<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo some Kaaba of Poesy throng;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the homes and the tombs of the poets<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo the whole wide world belong.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the paths of their minstrels the nations tread,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the king on his bard awaits ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor Ulysses is dumb, and Achilles is dead,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nUntil Homer their soul creates ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd ’tis Tasso who frees Jerusalem,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThough Godfrey wins her gates.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThrough the twilight of oaks and of mistletoe bowers.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe hymns of the Druids I hear;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Fairie Queene, through lab’rinths of flowers,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLures me with her melodies clear.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the echoes of ” woodly Morven,”<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo the murmurs of sweet Windermere ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd I hear the old Norsemen chanting their tunes,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nUnder arches of boreal fires.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Troubadours singing, through long, rich Junes,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo their soft Provencal lyres ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the bards of the Cambrian mountains,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nO’ersweeping their ‘wildered wires.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nO ! those voices of Song, how they ebb, how they flow!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow they swell, like the tides of the main !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEvery age, every clime, hath its life-giving throe,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd its utterance of generous pain\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTill its master-thought leapeth, full armor’d,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom out some Jove-like brain !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nO ! the heroes and kings have no story to tell,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the dust of their funeral urns;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut the songs of the poets immortally dwell<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWheresoever a true heart yearns \u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the halls of the royal David,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOr the cottage of Robert Burns !<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/span><\/a><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nPart II.<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
\nBut the house of the past hath its tongues of stone,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nYea, its voices of marble and brass\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the sands of the desolate desert up-thrown.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the mold of the wilderness grass !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThough the myth of their awful meanings<\/span><\/div>\n
\nToo often we idly pass !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the Nile flows down by its pyramid tombs ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the ruins of Tadmor lie;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the Petraean cities, from cavernous glooms.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike sepulchers, startle the eye\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nO ! the voices of granite and marble<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo our souls make audible cry !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEvery crumbling plinth, every prostrate shaft,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHath a murmur of moldering years ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom each column and cornice the low winds waft<\/span><\/div>\n
\nA dirge to our listening ears ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd each frieze, from its sculptured tablet.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nSeems weeping with stony tears ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the gardens of Belus o’er Babylon hung,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd where Nineveh’s walls were raised ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhere the hundred portals of Thebes swung,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd old Tyre over ocean gazed ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd where high upon Mount Moriah,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nKing Solomon’s Temple blazed !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOh ! that mountain of God, in the realms of my love,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHath a marvelous glory and worth ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Temple that rose its high places above,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nCovers more than Jerusalem’s girth ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor its aisles are the highways of ages.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd its courts are the zones of earth.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nO’er its mythical meanings and parabled sense<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI have pondered, in childlike mind,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nUntil, back through the ages, with yearnings intense.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nMy unsatisfied heart hath inclined \u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLonging still for the word of the Master\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe Word that no mortal may find !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the dreams and the visions of fervent desire,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI have mingled with Levite and Priest;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the widow’s son, Hiram, and Hiram of Tyre,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nSitting down at Meridian feast;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd beholding King Solomon’s glory<\/span><\/div>\n
\nArising, like morn in the East<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith mine ancient brethren in Masonry’s craft\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen my soul the lambskin wore\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI have stood by the mystical corner shaft,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd knelt on the tesselate floor ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the glorious roof of the Temple,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike Heaven’s roof, arching me o’er !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nUnder all the rude noises of battling thrones,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd of realms that jar and strive,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFlows the voice of our Master, whose tender tones<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOverbrooded the Hebrew hive.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen he spake three thousand proverbs.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd his songs were a thousand and five;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen he sang of Mount Lebanon’s cedar tree.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd of hyssop that springs from the wall ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOf the fowls of the air, of the fish of the sea.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd of things in the dust that crawl;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTill the words of his love and his wisdom<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEnlighten-‘d and beautified all.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo the ruler of Sidon\u2014 the lord of the seas\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFlies the word of Jerusalem’s king.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nSaying, “Bid thou thy servants that Lebanon’s trees<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo Judean borders they bring ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd between us shall peace be alway.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd blessings around us cling.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom his wars and his sorrows King David hath rest,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd he sleeps under Sion’s sod ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut, with trembling and awe, at his high behest,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI abide in the paths he trod ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd I build on the Mount of Moriah<\/span><\/div>\n
\nA house to the Lord my God !<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThen, from far-away forests of Lebanon come<\/span><\/div>\n
\nGreat floats unto Joppa’s strand ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd from Tyre and Sidon arises a hum.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAs of bees, overswarming the land ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd it swells through the Valley of Jordan,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn chorals of industry grand !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nUnder manifold halos of column and arch.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThrough the soundless courts and aisles.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAt the word of their Master the Craftsmen march.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTo their labors, in lengthening files;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhile the Temple arises before them.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom portal to golden tiles<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the echoless earth, through the motionless air,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow that beautiful fabric upgrows !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the heart of the King, like a voiceless prayer,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow it mounts, in its fragrant repose ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBearing upward King Solomon’s worship.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAs incense ascends from the rose !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn their brass and their silver, their marble and gold,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAll noiseless the Crafts have wrought.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTill, in grandeur of silence, their works unfold,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAs with life everlasting fraught.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBy the glow of the greater and lesser Light,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the power of the Master’s Word\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBy the Plummet of Truth, and the level of Right,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Square that hath never err’d \u2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThrough the work of a Master Mason,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nKing Solomon’s prayer was heard.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAt the fragrant morn, ‘neath the golden moon,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the eventide’s hour of balm,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAll the hearts of his Craftsmen were lifted in tune,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike the mingling of harmonies calm ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the Temple arose on Moriah,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nA mighty Masonic Psalm !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOh ! that Temple of God, from the house of the past,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nShineth down o’er the centuried years ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd my heart, through the veil of its mysteries vast.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe voice of King Solomon hears.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAsking me, with the sign of a Master,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhy my spirit no Temple rears.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the Three Great Lights ever shining above.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the tools of the Craft at hand,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhy I t)uild up no fabric of prayerful love.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the arch of a lifetime spann’d ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the wings of embracing cherubs<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOverbrooding its yearnings grand.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOh ! the house of the Lord that our lives might raise.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow it gleams from our fair youth-time !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow its manifold arches and architraves blaze.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThrough the wilderness-dust of our prime;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nYet our years, when they molder to ashes,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBehold us but wrecks sublime !<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor the house that we build in a lifetime’s length,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the midst of our worldly din,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHath no Jachin and Boaz, established in strength,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd no Holy of Holies within ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd we bear up no Ark of the Covenant,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom out of our Desert of Zin !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThere’s a mountain of God in each human heart<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor that glorious Temple’s base ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the lines of each loyal Mason’s art<\/span><\/div>\n
\nMay its grand foundations trace ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd within it, the wings of cherubs<\/span><\/div>\n
\nMay the Holy of Holies embrace !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThrough the beautiful aisles of the charmed past,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHow its wonderful harmonies swell!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen their meanings arise, at the Templar’s blast,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFrom the mold of each darksome cell;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the soul of the true no longer<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the dust of the false shall dwell!<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen the thoughts of our morning shall royally plan,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the deeds of our day shall build ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the arch of perfection eternally span.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the measure our Master hath will’d ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the depths of our Holy of Holies<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith incense of prayer be filled !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhen the pillars of strength in our porch shall abide,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWith the lilies of beauty above ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the veil of the Presence, encompassing wide.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOvershadow the ark of our love ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the peace of the blessed Shekinah<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEnfold, like the wings of a dove !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOh ! the cedars of Lebanon grow at our door,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the quarry is sunk at our gate ;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the ships out of Ophir, with golden ore<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor our summoning mandate wait;<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd the word of a Master Mason<\/span><\/div>\n
\nMay the house of our soul create !<\/span><\/div>\n
\nWhile the day hath light, let the light be used.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFor no man shall the night control !<\/span><\/div>\n
\n” Or ever the silken cord be loosed.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOr broken the golden bowl,”<\/span><\/div>\n
\nMay we build King Solomon’s Temple<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn the true Masonic soul<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

King Solomon’s Temple – An American Masonic poem – 10 pages reprinted 1870 by Tweddell As it says in the above “Messers Tweddell (one of the firm being Bro. Geo Tweddell FSA &c …having recently re-printed and issued this striking Masonic poem in the shape of  neat pamphlet. Messers Tweddell deserve credit for the perception […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=37"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=37"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=37"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/georgemarkhamtweddell\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=37"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}