Again we are called to assemble among the habitations of the dead, to behold the "narrow house appointed for all living." Here, around us, in that peace which the world cannot give or take away, sleep the unnumbered dead. The gentle breeze fans their verdant covering, they heed it not; the sunshine and the storm pass over them, and they are not disturbed; stones and lettered monuments symbolize the affection of surviving friends, yet no sound proceeds from them, save that silent but thrilling admonition, "Seek ye the narrow path and the straight gate that lead unto eternal life."
We are again called upon to consider the uncertainty of human life, the immutable certainty of death, and the vanity of all human pursuits. Decrepitude and decay are written upon every living thing. The cradle and the coffin stand in juxtaposition to each other; and it is a melancholy truth that so soon as we begin to live, that moment we also begin to die. It is passing strange that, notwithstanding the daily mementos of mortality that cross our path—notwithstanding the funeral bells so often toll in our ears and the "mournful processions" go about our streets—we will not more seriously consider our approaching fate. We go on from design to design, add hope to hope, and lay out plans for the employment of many years, until we are suddenly alarmed at the approach of the Messenger of Death, at a moment when we least expect him, and which we probably conclude to be the meridian of our existence.
What, then, are all the externals of human dignity—the power of wealth, the dreams of ambition, the pride of intellect, or the charms of beauty—when Nature has paid her just debt? Fix your eyes on the last sad scene, and view life stripped of its ornaments, and exposed in its natural weakness, and you must be persuaded of the utter emptiness of these delusions. In the grave, all fallacies are detected, all ranks are leveled, all distinctions are done away. Here the scepter of the prince and the staff of the beggar are laid side by side.
Our present meeting and proceedings will have been vain and useless, if they fail to excite our serious reflections, and strengthen our resolutions of amendment.
Be then persuaded, my brethren, by this example of the uncertainty of human life, of the unsubstantial nature of all its pursuits, and no longer postpone the all-important concern of preparing for eternity. Let us each embrace the present moment, and while time and opportunity permit, prepare for that great change when the pleasures of the world be as a poison to our lips, and the happy reflections consequent upon a well-spent life afford the only consolation.
Thus shall our hopes be not frustrated, nor we be hurried unprepared into the presence of that all-wise and powerful Judge, to whom the secrets of all hearts are known. Let us resolve to maintain with sincerity the dignified character of our profession. May our Faith be evinced in a correct moral walk and deportment; may our Hope be bright as the glorious mysteries that will be revealed hereafter; and our Charity boundless as the wants of our fellow-creatures. And, having faithfully discharged the great duties which we owe to God, to our neighbor, and to ourselves, when at last it shall please the Grand Master of the Universe to summon us into His eternal presence, may the Trestle-board of our whole lives pass such inspection that it may be given unto each of us to "eat of the hidden manna," and to receive the "white stone with a new name" that will insure perpetual and unspeakable happiness at His right hand.
The Lambskin being removed from the coffin, the Master holds it up and says:
W. M.: The Lambskin, or white leathern Apron, is an emblem of innocence and the badge of a Mason; more ancient than the Golden Fleece or Roman Eagle; more honorable than Star and Garter, when worthily worn. This emblem I now deposit in the grave of our deceased brother. [Deposits it.] By it we are reminded of that purity of life and conduct so essentially necessary to gaining admission to the Celestial Lodge above, where the Supreme Architect of the Universe presides.
The mattock, the coffin, and the melancholy grave admonish us of our mortality, and that, sooner or later, these frail bodies must moulder in their parent dust.
The Master, holding the evergreen, continues: