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