From Masonic Bulletin, Des Moines, Iowa, April, 1915
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might,
In the days when earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear;
And lie sang, “Hurrah for my handiwork!
Hurrah for the spear and sword!
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield these well,
For lie shall lie king and lord!”
To Tubal Cain came many a one,
As lie wrought by his roaring fire,
And each one prayed for a strong blade,
As the crown of his desire;
And lie made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,
And spoils of the forest free;
And they sang, “Hurrah for Tubal Cain,
Who hath given us strenght anew!
Hurrah for the smith! Hurrah for the fire!
And hurrah for the metal true!”
But a sudden change came o’er his heart,
Ere the setting of the sun;
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done.
He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind;
That the land was red with the blood they shed,
In their lust for carnage blind;
And he said, “Alas! that ever I made,
Or that skill of mine should plan
The spear and the sword, for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow man!”
And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o’er his woe,
And his hand forebore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face
And a bright, courageous eye,
And bared his strong arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high,
And lie sang, “Hurrah for my handiwork!”
And the red sparks lit the air;
” Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made.”
And he fashioned the first plowshare.
And the men taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their bands,
Hung the sword in the ball, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands.
And sang, “Hurrah for Tubal Cain!
Our staunch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough,
To him our praise shall be;
But while oppression lifts its bead,
Or a tyrant would be lord,
Though we may thank him for the plough,
We’ll not forget the sword!”