The Fervor of Affiliation

A place in the Lodge for me,
A home with the free and bright,
Where jarring chords agree,
And the darkest soul is light:
Not here, not here is bliss,
There's turmoil and there's gloom;
My spirit yearns for peace,-
Say, Brothers, say, is there room!

My feet are weary worn,
And my eyes are dim with tears;
This world is all forlorn,
A wilderness of fears;
But there's one green spot below,
There's a resting-place, a home,
My spirit yearns to know,-
Say, Brothers, say, is there room!

I hear the orphan's cry,
And I see the widow's tear;
I weep when mortals die,
And none but God is near;
From sorrow and despair,
I seek the Mason's home,
My spirit yearns to share,-
Say, Brothers, say, is there room!

With God's own eye above,
With Brothers-hands below;
With Friendship and with Love,
My pilgrimage I'll go;
And when In death's embrace,
My summons it shall come,
Within your heart's best place,
Oh, Brothers, oh, give me room!