My New-cut Ashlar

L’Envoi to Life’s Handicap

My new-cut ashlar takes the light 
   Where crimson-blank the windows flare
By my own work before the night, 
   Great Overseer, I make my prayer. 

If there be good in that I wrought 
   Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine -
Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought
    I know, through Thee, the blame was mine. 

One instant's toil to Thee denied 
   Stands all Eternity's offence. 
Of that I did with Thee to guide, 
   To Thee, through Thee, be excellence. 

The depth and dream of my desire, 
   The bitter paths wherein I stray -
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
   Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay. 

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
   Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain -
Godlike to muse o'er his own Trade
   And manlike stand with God again ! 

One stone the more swings into place 
   In that dread Temple of Thy worth. 
It is enough that, through Thy Grace. 
   I saw nought common on Thy Earth. 

Take not that vision from my ken -
   Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed.
Help me to need no aid from men
   That I may help such men as need !