| 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, | 5 |
| Thy hand compell'd it, Master, Thine; | |
| Where I have fail'd to meet Thy thought | |
| I know, through Thee, the blame if mine. | |
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| One instant's toil to Thee denied | |
| Stands all Eternity's offence; | 10 |
| Of that I did with Thee to guide | |
| To Thee, through Thee, be excellence. | |
| |
| Who, lest all thought of Eden fade, | |
| Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain, | |
| Godlike to muse o'er his own trade | 15 |
| And manlike stand with God again. | |
| |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
| One stone the more swings to her place | |
| In that dread Temple of Thy worth— | |
| It is enough that through Thy grace | |
| I saw naught common on Thy earth. | |
| |
| Take not that vision from my ken; | 25 |
| O, whatsoe'er may spoil or speed, | |
| Help me to need no aid from men, | |
| That I may help such men as need! | |
