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 !