The Soliloquy is given while the Lodge is dark and Hiram is buried
in the rubbish.
A Soliloquy from the Master's Degree of the GL of Wisconsin (present
"The horrid deed is done!
Here, cold and mute, wrapped in the icy cloak of death, the Master sleeps.
No more the pageantry and pomp of power. No more the crowd of
craftsmen hastening to do his deep designs. No more the temple rising
proudly from the hills and beckoning the heavens to rest upon its stately
columns. No more will this, his high ambition, gratify.
Oh death untimely! Yet, oh timely death! Wrested from life
while fresh his honors clustered, before the fetid breath of calumny had
marred the splendor of his name, or slander smirched the worth of his
achievements. He has fallen, yielding up life rather than break his
vow. Surrendering all - all that the world holds dear; life, power,
riches, everything; but holding fast to his Masonic secret.
Oh, rare integrity! Oh, fortitude most grand! To him in
future years will countless thousands raise their songs of praise, and laud
his name who death preferred than faithless prove, than trust betray.
Yet, though well kept, his secret stands revealed. I read it thus: the
Masonic secret is in these words contained: Truth, Honor, Fortitude.
(Low-twelve bell tolls.)
But Hark! The tuneful bell
rings out the hour of meeting. My comrades come. Now must we hasten away,
bearing our heavy burden of remorse."
(From the "Acimons Cipher" known in Wisconsin as the
"Daggett," an illegal cipher printed in 1902 by a Wisconsin Mason, W. W.
Tis yonder from Mount
Moriah I have come, filled with soulful remorse, not knowing whether it is
better to tarry or to flee. But, hist! I am nearing the spot of the present
concealment of the body, after having prepared a place to hide more
completely from human sight forever the victim of our crime. Dreaming
visions of the past, the present and the future are flying through my
distracted brain; but I will tarry here and await the appointed hour, for
the horrid deed is done!
Here, cold and mute, wrapped in the icy cloak of death, the Master
No more the pomp and pageantry of power; no more the many craftsmen
hurrying hither and thither to do his deep designs. Yet under the direction
of the masterful mind, the Temple in all its grandeur and beauty has arisen,
towering over the hills and beckoning the heavens to rest upon it's stately
columns. No more shall this, his high ambition gratify. Oh death, untimely!
Yet, oh timely death! Wrestled from life while fresh his honors
cluster; before the fetid breath of calumny had marred the splendor of his
name, or slander smirched the glory of his achievements.
He has fallen, yielding up his life rather than break his vows;
surrendering all that the world holds-power, riches, life itself, yet
holding fast to his Masonic secret. Oh, integrity most rare! Oh, fortitude
most grand! To him in future years shall countless Masons raise songs of
praise to laud his name.
Oh, death preferred, rather than faithless prove, rather than trust
Yet, though well kept, his secret is revealed. I read it thus: The
secret of a Master Mason is contained in these three words: Truth, Honor,
(Low twelve bell strikes.)
But, hark! The tuneful bells ring
out the hour of meeting; but where are my accomplices in crime? Oh, ye
Gods! Must I alone, in the gloom of the midnight hour, in
ghostly presence come?