Saturday, November 5, 2016

My New-Cut Ashlar

By Rudyard Kipling

My New-Cut ashlar takes the light 
Where crimsonblank 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.

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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