FL SOUTH SOUTHEAST
District No. 2000

11 O'Clock Toasts . . .

Eleven O'Clock Toast You have heard the tolling of eleven strokes. This is to remind you that with Elks, the hour of eleven has a tender significance. Wherever Elks may roam, whatever their lot in life may be, when this hour falls upon the dial of night, the great heart of Elkdom swells and throbs. It is the golden hour of recollection, the homecoming of those who wander, the mystic roll call of those who will come no more. Living or dead, an Elk is never forgotten, never forsaken. Morning and noon may pass them by, the light of day sink heedlessly into the west. But ere the shadows of midnight shall fall, the chimes of memory will be pealing forth the friendly message: To our absent members


The Original Jolly Corks Toast Now is the hour when Elkdom's tower is darkened by the shroud of night, And father time on his silver chime Tolls off each moment's flight. In Cloistered halls each Elk recalls His Brothers where'er they be, And traces their faces to well-known places In the annals of memory. Whether they stand on a foreign land Or lie in an earthen bed, Whether they be on the boundless sea With the breakers of death ahead. Whate'er their plight on this eerie night Whate'er their fate may be, Where ever they are be it near or far They are thinking of you and me. So drink from the fountain of fellowship To the Brother who clasped your hand, And wrote your worth in the rock of earth And your faults upon the sand. TO OUR ABSENT BROTHERS

 


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