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 !
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