If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley — but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Sure, this world is full of trouble
I ain't said it ain't.
Lord, I've had enough and double
Men build a road of Masonry
Across the hills and dales,
Unite the prairie and the sea,
Father's lodge, I well remember,
wasn't large as lodges go,
There was trouble in December
Fine men have walked this way before,
Whatever Lodge your Lodge may be;
Whoever stands before the door,
Let no king quite put off his crown!
I still would have him kingly when
In some old inn the king sat down
The Little Lodge of long ago —
It wasn't very much for show;
Men met above the village store,
Brick by brick the Masons builded
Till the highest cross was gilded
With the glory of the sun,
Till the noble task was done.
Men say, 'How wonderful is Spring!'
I say, 'How marvelous is man!'
For Spring no more can gladness bring