Dad gave me his ring
And I keep it with mine
In the box on the wall
Across from the hall.
The bottom's worn thin
And the top is all scarred
From wearing I guess
For work and for dress.
It looks just like mine
But bigger you see
He wore it with pride
Till the day that he died.
Toward the last of his day
It seemed to fall over
But the tape held it tight
twas a pitiful sight.
I keep it with mine
In the box with the clutter
Instead of by itself
Atop of the shelf.
So when I get mine
I often get his.
And smile at the thing
That memories bring.
So often I’ll pass
And reach for the thing
In the box on the wall
Across from the hall.
And now it’s all mine;
To give ... or to hold.
This sign of the Craft,
This worn bit of gold.
And I'll find by and by
If I look o'er this land
A Brother in need
Of a Mason's gold band.
And then will Dad's ring
Find a true resting place
And then I'll be sure
Of a smile on Dad's face.
By: Jerry Leighton and Richard Pierce