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Victor Roy;

A Masonic Poem.

by

Harriett Annie Wilkins.

Dedicated, by permission
To
Daniel Spry, Esq.

Grand Master of the
Grand Lodge, A.F. & A.M.
Of Canada.

Preface

An anecdote appeared some time ago in the pages of "The Craftsman" whichgave rise to the ideas embodied in "Victor Roy." It is not a story ofprofound depth. Its aim is not to soar to Alpine heights of imagination,or to excavate undiscovered treasures from the mines of thought. It is avery simple story, told in very simple words, of such lives as are aroundus in our midst. It tells of sorrows that are daily being borne bysuffering humanity, and of the faith that gives strength to that sufferinghumanity to endure "seeing Him, who is invisible." All lives may not seetheir earth day close in sunshine, but somewhere the sun is shining, andall true cross-bearers shall some day become true crown-wearers. Thefollowing pages have some references to that Ancient Order which comesdown the centuries, bearing upon its structure the marks of that GrandMaster Builder, who gave to the visible universe "the sun to rule the day,the moon and stars to govern the night;" an Order which, like thesewondrous orbs, is grand in its mysterious symbolism, calm in itsunvarying circles, universal in its beneficence.

We are told of a poor weary traveller who had plucked a flower. Theshadows of a grand cathedral lay before him. He entered; itsarchitecture charmed him, its calmness refreshed him. Approaching ashrine he laid his flower upon it, saying: "It is all I can give; it,too, is God's work, although gathered by a feeble, dying hand." A prieststanding near looked upon the flower and said: "God bless you, mybrother, heaven is nearer to me." So, if by the perusal of "Victor Roy"one ear hears more distinctly the Apostolic declaration, "Pure religionis to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction," or if onepoor sinking spirit is strengthened, as Longfellow says, to "touch God'sright hand in the darkness," the wishes of the Authoress will be fullyaccomplished.

Harriett Annie

Hamilton, August, 1882.

Victor Roy

Victor's Soliloquy.

Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds,
  And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling,
As the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds,
  Whistle and howl, like lost spirits calling.

But a warm luxuriantly furnished room,
  Is an antidote to the wild night storm,
Lamplight and firelight banish the gloom,
  No poverty stalks there with cold gaunt form.

Yet there seems a shadow, yes even there,
  Where all is so peacefully grand and still,
No fair young face with its shining hair,