So fill our cots with childhood's din
The voice be rarely heard within,
And ne'er without;
Each thatch with crowded poultry hide,
Give jars that bruise the fountain's side
With metal stout.
Oh! Bera Pennoo! once again
Protect us in the grove and plain
From beasts of prey;
Nor let sly snake or tiger bold
Fright children, save in stories old
Of Fathers grey.
Oh! make it each man's only care
Yearly to build a store-room fair
For goods unspent;
And we thy rites shall duly pay:—
Lo! one bought victim now we slay—
One life present.
The Final Toast.
A Masonic Song.
"Are your glasses charged in the West and South?" the Worshipful Master cries;
"They are charged in the West,"—"They are charged in the South," are the Wardens' prompt replies;
"Then to our final toast to-night your glasses fairly drain—
"HAPPY TO MEET—SORRY TO PART—HAPPY TO MEET AGAIN!"
The Mason's social brotherhood around the festive board
Reveals a wealth more precious far than selfish miser's hoard;
They freely share the priceless stores that generous hearts contain—
"HAPPY TO MEET—SORRY TO PART—HAPPY TO MEET AGAIN!"
