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 what I wrought

       Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine -

       Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought

         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 help from men

   that I may help such men as need !


                                   Rudyard Kipling