By Silas H. Shepherd
Thou, Royal Art, in splendor clothed
By verse and learned orator extolled
What is thy power o′er men so frail?
Where is thy wisdom ne′er assailed?
Is it in mystic rites and form
Or legends to which all conform,
That men find satisfaction rare,
And in it's ceremonies share?
It never could the wise attract
By mystic rite or tragic act
Did not some power in secret lie
Hidden from all but worthy eye.
Its secret most profound and rare
All worthy men may likewise share.
It welcomes men with motives pure
It helps to make their lives secure.
It feeds, with Truth, the hungry soul
It lights the darkness to the goal,
Where Father waits His souls to meet,
Who as a brother fellows greet.
It clears the air of doubt and fear,
It gives to life delight and cheer,
It makes the Brotherhood of Man
A consummation of His Plan.