Victor Roy, a Masonic Poem Part 2

To the lone widow's home the prophet came, For a few frightened men the wild sea slept, For one poor servant flashed the glowing flame, Where angels in their martial glory stepped Out from the shade.

Not for proud Miriam's king Rolled back the billows of the deep Red sea; For helpless women, children, unarmed men, The 'Fourth Man' walked to s.h.i.+eld the flame-girt three; For one, St. Michael, paced the lion's den, G.o.d's help to bring.

Mother, is He not near, Who had not where to rest His tired head?

Who, in the dreary wilderness alone, Hungry and faint, had none to give Him bread; Listening t' the damp wind's low and sullen moan O'er nature's bier."

"My child, my comforter, in this dark hour of love Thy faith and trust in G.o.d is like the pole star's glow To some benighted sailor; yes, e'en now a thought Has come to me like light from dawning sunbeam brought.

My father, Ethel, was a Mason; ere he died He called me to him, and kneeling at his side, Gave me a jewel, charged me with his dying breath Never to give it up except for life or death, For when at last he died we were almost alone, And stranger's ears were those which heard his dying moan, The hands of strangers robed him for the grave, The feet of strangers laid him where the cedars wave.

Weary, he had left England for the balmy breath Of summer climes he found fierce pain and death.

I was his joy, his all on earth, for the dark hour That gave me breath took home his purest flower.

And I have never known what means that place of rest, The sweeetest home on earth, a living mother's breast.

All the night long, in which my father died, He kept me close beside him, oft he vainly tried To tell me about something, ever and anon He'd speak about his brothers--I knew he had none-- Then in faint accents he would say, 'When I am cold Tell them I left a lamb outside the fold.'

'Tell whom?' I cried. 'My brothers.' Then he'd fall asleep, And I supposed him wandering and would weep.

A year or so before we spent a happy time On bonnie Scotland's hills of heather and wild thyme, And oft we watched the shepherd tending flocks of sheep In the soft gra.s.sy vales, or up the mountain steep, And sweet were the life lessons that I often took From that unsullied page of nature's open book.

There came to me through that fair, hallowed summer scene, Bright glowing visions of the fadeless pastures green, And clearer views of One I trust my soul will keep, That sinless, Holy Shepherd of the helpless sheep.

And so I thought when father moaned amid his pain, 'I leave an orphan lamb;' he had gone back again Through the fierce fevers, annihilating flight, To valley of the blue bell, or the heath crowned height.

But, suddenly there came one quick and conscious gleam Of light with its belongings; that transforming beam Lit up the past a moment, then its G.o.d-sent light Flashed up the path he travelled. No more tears, no night Was there for him, he said, only love is s.h.i.+ning day, And calling on his young wife's name he pa.s.sed away.

Ethel, I've been so hungry often, and so chill, And what is ten times worse, have seen you faint and ill, And never yet have I foresworn my pledge; but now Our duty to the dead must plead my broken vow.

Ethel, if my loved Father is with us to-night, Will he not stamp forgiveness on this dead as right?

Perhaps in the morning light this howling storm will stay Its fury, and G.o.d please to open up our way.

So we can lay our dead in quiet rest at last, Then we, my child, go forth and dare the world's cold blast."

"Mother, oh let me tell Something I saw to-day: I went for bread; But when I came to pa.s.s the church, my way Was stopped by a procession, a neighbor said It was St. John's loved Festival, a day Masons keep well.

And while we were delayed She spoke of one who had kind words for all, She said his name was Roy, told me his home; He could'nt have heard her, yet he looked at me So strangely, yet so kindly, that my thoughts will roam To him for aid.

Yes, mother; yes, to-night, Trust me with that Masonic jewel, I Will keep it safe; perhaps this very man May know of some one who would like to buy, At least he'll let me know its worth, I can But do the right.

Mother, deny me not, I'll go as "Esther went unto the king, G.o.d will protect me if the night is wild; Perhaps some bright ray of suns.h.i.+ne I may bring, Pray that good angels may surround your child, And guard her lot."

Ethel's Mission.

Out in the blinding and pitiless sleet, The young girl goes on her errand blest; She starts at each sound on the lonely street, As she longs for, but dares not dream of rest.

She knows not the worth of the gem she holds Close to her breast, in her thinly clad hands; A martyr's courage her soul enfolds, And a guardian angel near her stands.

She shudders oft as she pa.s.ses by Some staggering form, whose ribald curse Seems, 'mid the storms of that stormy sky, To make the loneliness ten times worse.

Now on the icy pavement she stands, Now is plunged deep in a drift of snow, Now she is rubbing her freezing hands Scarcely knowing which way she must go.

She thinks of the past, the long dark past, And blights that follow a drunkard's child, And the tears she strive's to check fall fast, And turn to ice in that night so wild.

For we all know how, in the darkest shade, Dreams of the sunniest light will come To one in a foreign hospital laid, No words so dear as, "My home, sweet home!"

And Ethel sees visions of sunny bowers Where once she played with the ring-doves mild, 'Mid the piercing blast she can scent the flowers She plucked with joy when a little child.

Then she starts in fear, and a nameless dread, As she thinks of her mother o'er and o'er, Keeping lone watch with one lying dead, In that fearful stillness, behind the door;.

And, raising her trembling heart to Heaven, She asks of Him, who careth for birds, That help and strength may to her be given, And not in air die her earnest words.

She reaches the end of the lonely gloom, She scarcely knows if in fear or joy, She pa.s.ses on to a snug warm room And stands in the presence of Victor Roy.

With tremulous efforts the timid girl Strives to utter her story of grief, all things grow of a dizzy whirl As she s.h.i.+vering stands like an aspen leaf.

He looks at the eyes so earnest and sad, He hears the voice that is sweet and mild, He sees a figure scantily clad, And only mutters, "Why, that is the child."

He looks at the snowflakes melting fast From the faded hood and the mantle fold, While his thoughts go dreamily into the past, And now he is young and now he is old.

He has taken the jewel in his hand, He knows the mark which that Key-stone bears; Upon any sea, upon any land, The sign of a brother that jewel wears.

He looks at the Key-stone, with eyes whose ray Grows dreamy like a somnambulist, and Ethel murmurs, "I saw you to-day At the church of St. John, the Evangelist.

Have I done any wrong in coming here?

'Twas only this evening my father died, And mother is lonely and full of fear; We have no friend in this world so wide."

And hearing the mournful voice again, Seemed the unexplained spell to break; And, in tones which were partly born of pain And partly of hopefulness, Victor spake:

"Come nearer the fire, little girl, and tell me why here you came.

Why did you bring this jewel to me? How did you learn my name?

Your father is dead, this was not his; your name is Ethel Adair.

Adair, Adair, it seems like a dream; I have heard that name, but where?

There, rest yourself child, it's cold to-night, you can tell me by and by Where you are from, and where you live--what do you say, will I buy?

Do not fear little girl, I am your friend; you cannot speak the word Of thanks you wish to say, never mind, for there's One above has heard.

Were you born in America? No; in Spain by the Darro's waters bright, Your parents went there from western skies, 'neath the Rocky mountain's height.

Where do you live? What there, in that wretched barn of a place!

A man who can rent such dens should meet the contempt of his race.

What have you had to eat to-day? Why, how have you lived it out?

Your mother and you did sewing; oh yes, at starvation prices, no doubt.

Him? I know the man you have worked for then, he keeps his carriage and pair, Gives largely to missionary funds, and is long and loud in grayer.

Never mind, the same All-Seeing Eye watches them come and go, That noted the whited sepulchre two thousand years ago.

There, take that coffee and cake, and when you are rested I'll come And see what has to be done in your lonely, desolate home.

And Jasper, you'll come along to take care of us both, and please bring Something to eat; a basket? yes, filled with every good thing.

There, don't be long Jasper, time flies; yes, I know it is growing late, And Una and her lion have not so very long to wait.

You used to read of Una, and wonder what made the lion stay; Lions are useful, Ethel, sometimes to keep the jackals away.

Why child, are you ready so soon? Will you be my little guide?

Oh, I cannot tell you the worth of this; do you know where your grandpa died?

You would rather I bought it--all right--who is at home, only your mother, dear?

A brother's daughter and orphan child must not perish while I am near.

You knew that G.o.d would help you, have you learnt to trust and love Him too?

There's another link between us then, ever old and ever new.

You're afraid the storm will hurt me, you are used to the frosty air; We'll brave it together for once, so come little Ethel Adair.