OUR LODGE
The gavel sounded for
opening, By the Primo, so stately and stout;
The Tyler then closed
the lodge door,
And Brothers gather for
the count. The roll call and business dealt with,
Then the late-comers
gave the alarm,
The Waiters and Steward
got busy, And soon we were bending our arm,
The Primo looked rather
savage,
As he roared and
proceeded to roast, A few of those
unworthy Brothers,
Who partook before the
toast,
A charge or two decided,
The Evidence given was
good, Some Primo’s just have no conscience,
He fined every Brother
who stood,
The Constable moved
around freely, With a grin of horrible glee;
As he waited on
unfortunate brothers,
And collected the
appropriate fee. Good items of harmony were rendered, Artists we have by the
score;
The brothers dobbed in
quite freely,
In sums of two pence or
more. The Steward then brought in the fodder,
All set out daintly and
neat;
The Lodge room was then turmoil,
As signal was given to eat,
Some Brothers just have
no manners,
Their aim is to be there
first; While some sit around quite contented,
Quenching their terrible
thirsts.
The time slips away
quite un-noticed. Till you find that it’s near time to call;
For the receipt of the
evening,
A good night has been had
by all.
-------------------------------------------------------
THE
OLD BRIGADE
(The
recent piece of prose regarding the “old Buff”, prompted the printing of this
poem entitled “The Old Brigade” from a very old Buffalo Magazine.)
As you travel through the Lodge’s Of the Order – so
far flung;
You will notice a band of heroes Who remain – as
yet unsung.
They’re the stalwarts of the Order, The veterans of
the trade;
The backbone of their Lodges, The Loyal Old Brigade.
They never miss their Lodge night, Come rain or
hail or snow;
For their hearts are in the order, And they feel
that they MUST go.
When others feel like slacking, When the young’uns
faint and fade;
You’ll find them in the opening link, The steady
Old Brigade.
Does a Brother need a helping hand, In sickness or
distress?
They’re always there to do their bit, To comfort –
and to bless!
They stand their turn in office, Never hope to be
repaid;
Except by easy conscience, The Stalwart Old
Brigade.
They cling unto their Mother Lodge, Like a child to
mother’s gown;
And their presence is a lighthouse, When things are
going down.
They’re the cream of the Order, May their glory
never fade;
So – “S. T. B. Old Soldiers”
YOU FAMOUS OLD BRIGADE
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