I stood beside the grave,
The last and dreamless bed;
One whom I knew in other days
Lay there amidst the dead;
His head toward the setting sun;
For O, his life and pilgrimage were done.

'Twas evening's pensive hour, —
The rich and painted West
Had called earth's laborers, — weary ones, —
To home delights and rest;
Bird songs and voices of the day
Had melted all in evening's hush away.

Then came upon my soul
A rush of memories;
I seemed to see beside that grave
My friend of other days;
His beaming eye, — his generous hand, —
The largest, brightest, readiest of our band.

I seemed to hear once more
His voice so full and free, —
My hand, — my heart, — my purse, — my life,
I give from me to thee!
The scalding tears my grief confest;
While night and darkness settled o'er the West.

For oh, I thought me then
Of all his sad decline;
He fell from honor's topmost height,
The victim of one sin!
Yes, he, the generous and the brave,
Lay there dishonored in a Drunkard's Grave!

Long years and hard he strove
Against the syren cup;
Wife, Children, Brotherhood combined
To bear him kindly up,
And cheer him midst that mighty woe
With which the unhappy drunkard has to do.

We plead by this and this;
We urged his plighted word;
We told him what a shameful tale
His story would afford;
We gathered 'round him all our band
And warned and threatened with stern command.

In vain; too strong his chain —
Our cable tow too weak!
That cursed thirst had burned his soul,
He would no warning take;
He broke the heart that leaned on his,
And brought himself, at last, at last, to this .

His sun went down at noon; —
His life expired in spring;
His work undone, his column broke, —
A ruined, loathsome thing!
Expelled from Masonry, his Grave
No emblems of the ancient Art can have.

I turned away in tears; —
The night had settled round; —
I heard in cypress branches nigh,
The owl's complaining sound,
Then homeward fled, amidst the gloom,
And left my Brother in the Drunkard's tomb!