Timeless Masonic Funeral Poems to Honor a Brother

The Level and the Square

by Robert Morris

We meet upon the Level
and we part upon the Square,
These words have precious meaning
and are practiced everywhere;
Come let us contemplate them,
they are worthy of a thought,
With the highest and the lowest
and the rarest they are fraught.

We meet upon the Level,
though from every station come,
The king from out his palace
and the poor man from his home;
For the rich must leave their wealth
and state outside the Mason's door,
And the poor man finds his best
respect upon the Checkered Floor.

We act upon the Plumb —
'tis the orders of our Guide,
We walk upright in virtue's way
and lean to neither side;
Th' All Seeing Eye that reads our hearts
doth bear us witness true,
That we still try to honor God
and give each man his due.

We part upon the Square,
for the world must have its due,
We mingle in the ranks of men,
but keep the secret true;
And the influence of our gatherings
is felt on every hand,
As we mingle with the multitude
and tread the busy land.

So the brotherhood of Masonry
from every corner come,
To meet upon the Level
and act upon the Plumb;
There's a world where all are equal —
we are hurrying toward it fast,
We shall meet upon the Level there,
when the gates of death are past.

We shall stand before the Orient,
and our Master will be there,
To try the blocks we offer
with his own unerring Square;
We shall meet upon the Level there,
but never thence depart,
There's a Mansion — 'tis all ready
for each trusting, faithful heart.

There's a Mansion and a welcome,
and a multitude is there
Who have met upon the Level
and been tried upon the Square.
Let us meet upon the Level then,
while laboring patient here,
Let us meet and let us labor,
though the labor be severe.

Already in the Western Sky
the signs bid us prepare
To gather up our working tools
and part upon the Square.
Hands round, ye faithful Brotherhood,
the bright fraternal chain,
We part upon the Square
below to meet in Heaven again.

A Masonic Funeral Service

by William Preston

When those we love are snatched away,
By death’s relentless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
That friendship must demand.

While pity prompts the rising sigh,
With awful power impressed;
May this dread truth, "I too must die,"
Sink deep in every breast.

Let this vain world engage no more,
Behold the gaping tomb;
It bids us seize the present hour,
To-morrow death may come.

The voice of this instructive scene
May every heart obey;
Nor be the faithful warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.

The Last Farewell

by Sir Walter Scott

Brethren of the mystic tie,
The trembling tear-drop falls,
While we weep the fond good-bye,
Where the voice of friendship calls.

Yet, though the trembling tear-drop falls,
To know that parting gives us pain,
Yet on the memory it recalls,
We trust to meet again.

So while our hearts are filled with sorrow,
And the tear of anguish starts,
Let this thought some solace borrow,
There is union for our hearts.

Brethren of the mystic tie,
The trembling tear-drop falls,
While we weep the fond good-bye,
Where the voice of friendship calls.

The Craftsman’s Funeral

by William Preston

Here lies a genuine brother of the craft,
A man in whom the badge of honor laughed;
A soul that knew no craft, save wisdom's light,
And journeyed onward to that day so bright.

We gathered round, the apron still in hand,
And saw his spirit leave this mortal land.
We laid him in the grave, our final bed,
With sprigs of acacia over his head.

The square upon his life, a measure true,
The level made him equal 'mongst the few;
The plumb-line judged his actions, straight and fair,
And now his tools are laid aside with care.

With heart and hand, the gavel now is still,
The trowel rests, its purpose to fulfill;
But in the memory of this Lodge we keep,
Our Brother’s labors, though he’s gone to sleep.

And as we part upon the Square once more,
To meet upon the Level at heaven’s door,
We’ll find our Brother, in that Lodge on high,
Where no one ever bids a last goodbye.

A Masonic Poem on Death

Author Unknown

Oh! may we keep the end in view,
And always on our guard,
That when we this short life review,
Our labors may be spared.

Thus, when the awful summons comes,
Obedient to thy call,
And consigned to our silent tombs,
We may in comfort fall.

And may our brethren’s hearts be cheered,
And softened by our fall,
And may a friendly tear be shared,
By every brother’s all.